Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It all started with a debate.

Well, actually, it started with an idea that eventually turned into a debate, because Osvald, the only other member of their group well versed in all things magical, enjoyed discussing new theories in the same way that Temenos enjoyed fine wine or Ochette enjoyed meat. Meaning that he had been the perfect subject for the inquisitor to throw his brand-new idea at—an idea that seemed perfectly logical on paper but was likely to prove far more problematic during practical application.

Though, really, very little about what he wanted to do was “practical,” which was kind of the point. After all, turning oneself into a conduit for a pure explosion of holy magic could only ever serve one purpose. Definitely an all or nothing sort of gamble, to be used only in the most desperate of situations.

He found that he didn’t particularly care.

In all honesty, he wasn’t entirely sure why the idea had dawned on him when it did, let alone where it had come from, but while fleeing Stormhail with blood on his hands (metaphorically at that point, rather than literally) and a very wounded Godsblade in tow, he had for some reason been contemplating his lot in life as Aelfric’s chosen cleric. It was only by the grace of the gods that he and Castti had managed to save Crick, to pull him back from the brink of death and tether his life to the world of the living, and as he had been reflecting on the gift that was bestowed upon him after visiting the altar at Borderfall, Temenos had found himself thinking back to some of the older stories in the scriptures, ones that hadn’t crossed his mind in years. He could remember the pontiff reading them to him and Roi when they were children. The tales about Aelfric had always been Roi’s favorites.

(Perhaps that was why he hadn’t thought on them in so long).

One in particular, however, seemed to stick in his mind: a story of how the Flamebringer, wielder of the most holy of magic—fueled by the very light of the Sacred Flame itself—was able to release all of his power in a single, devastating spell, burning away the darkness and reducing his enemies to ash. Temenos had never really thought much of those kinds of tales before, despite rather enjoying them. The histories were full of fanciful hyperbole, after all, some of which felt clearly made up and exaggerated for the purpose of inspiring awe, but he figured that, if there were some measure of truth to this one, then as a cleric blessed by the great Aelfric himself, it stood to reason that he should be able to do the same.

In theory.

And thus the debate began, with him and Osvald going back and forth, discussing the feasibility of such a thing and how a spell like that would even work, logistically speaking. Thankfully the conversation had come up while their group was laying low in Montwise, thus giving them access to the library, the greatest collection of knowledge in all of Solistia, and so after poking around for several hours and making a general nuisance of themselves by taking several books off the shelves, they eventually managed to find the spell in question.

Heavenly Shine.

It seemed rather promising. Osvald had thought so as well. It was probably the most he had ever heard the scholar speak in the many months they had been traveling together (though to be fair, he had gotten a bit more talkative after saving his daughter and putting an end to the man who had ruined his life, even if there were still several loose ends he was trying to wrap up). Their engaging conversation had certainly been a welcome change of pace.

It wasn’t until some of the other members of their party started to get involved, however, that their lively “conversation” truly turned into a genuine “debate.”

Mostly because of Castti.

“Isn’t that dangerous?” she had asked, her brow furrowing with that familiar twinge of motherly worry. “I imagine that releasing all of your magic at once would put a huge strain on your body.”

“I don’t see any record of Aelfric ever struggling with it.”

“He was a god, Temenos.”

“And I am apparently his chosen cleric, so I see no reason why I shouldn’t be able to manage it as well.”

She had not been impressed with his logic, to say the least. And to be fair, as much as he would’ve liked to pretend otherwise, her concern wasn’t entirely unwarranted. He could admit that he wasn’t exactly a...physically fit sort of person. He wasn’t unfit by any means—he was a perfectly healthy thirty-year-old, thank you very much—but he was certainly no Osvald when it came to stamina. If their bear-like scholar were the one to try such a feat, Temenos had no doubt that the man would be perfectly fine, but when it came to himself, it was kind of up in the air as to how well he could manage it. That wouldn’t stop him from trying though, regardless of Castti’s misgivings, and thankfully he had the perfect group in mind to help him “experiment,” so to speak.

The first was Osvald, obviously, since the man was just as invested in getting results from this endeavor as Temenos was; the second was Throné, because she was his assistant and generally accompanied him on his more dangerous missions; and then the third was Ochette, since out of the remainder of his friends, she was the only one who wouldn’t question how risky this was or try to convince him to reconsider (she actually seemed rather excited about the whole thing, much to his surprise).

And so, after making sure they had enough supplies just in case this all went horribly wrong, the four of them took off about an hour after lunch and made their way down the rickety ladder on the outskirts of town, descending into the very old and very ominous graveyard. While it was true that they could’ve just gone somewhere a little less dangerous for his experimentation, Temenos had opted for the supposedly haunted graveyard in order to kill two birds with one stone. Rumor had it that there were some rather incredible treasures hidden away down there, and so while he was practicing his ill-advised spell under careful supervision (not as careful as some might hope, but what Castti didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her—or him, for that matter), they could also be on the lookout for anything valuable hiding within the dark.

No one would miss a few trinkets, surely.

“Are we grave robbing?” Ochette had asked, her nose crinkling in disgust at the idea.

“Absolutely not,” he had replied. “Anything above ground is fair game, but let’s try to be at least somewhat respectful of the dead. While I might not have been particularly happy about being ‘blessed’ by a god, I certainly don’t wish to be ‘unblessed’ by one. Or cursed, for that matter.” He may not have any qualms about accusing the gods of slothfulness or being derelict in their duties, but there were some lines that just shouldn’t be crossed. Disturbing the dead was one of them.

Never let it be said that he didn’t have some morals.

...The graveyard was...eerie.

It was very eerie. Despite the fact that it was midday, not a single ray of light could be seen, the gloom surrounding the area too thick to be pierced even by the sun. It was a good thing they had brought lanterns with them, otherwise it would’ve been very easy to lose their footing amongst the uneven ground. There were leaves and upturned stones everywhere, and much of the foliage was either dead or overgrown. Obviously the place hadn’t had a caretaker in a long time, what with it being “haunted” and all.

He wasn’t entirely sure if he believed those claims. There was obviously something ominous down here, but it probably wasn’t a ghost. That being said, it wouldn’t surprise him if they came across some undead monsters, like skeletons for example. Those had a tendency to find their homes in places like this. They would need to be wary of any and all movement; it wouldn’t do to get taken by surprise. Yet another reason to have Throné with him for this endeavor. Their vigilant thief would make sure that nothing snuck up on them from the dark.

As comforting as that thought was, however, the atmosphere was still unsettling. The air was too silent, too stagnant, and it made him want to fill it. He clearly wasn’t the only one who seemed to feel that way either, as before he could come up with a topic of conversation (or just an observation on their surroundings, anything would’ve done, really), the quiet was broken by his assistant.

“So, do you have a plan?”

He glanced over at her as she walked calmly by his side, offering her a small smile at the welcome distraction.

“Calling it a ‘plan’ might be too generous,” he informed her, earning him a soft huff from the thief but also a curious glance from Osvald.

“Have you at least found an incantation to use?” the scholar asked, which was something they had discussed at great length earlier.

“I believe so, although in truth that part is the least concerning to me at the moment. I’ve still no idea how exactly I’m meant to unleash all of my magic at once.” That was something else they had discussed at great length, although the exact method had eluded them no matter how many tomes, both magical and religious, they had looked through. “While it’s true that I used almost all of my spirit when I was healing Crick, that was over the course of several minutes, not in one great burst. That being said, we’ve already spent hours theorizing about this, and although it was certainly enlightening, I fear that nothing quite beats actual experimentation.”

A breath of laughter came from beside him as Throné raised her lantern a little higher, navigating their way around a fallen tree.

“I almost feel bad for whatever hapless monster you decide to try this on,” she said, dark eyes bright with humor yet not without a touch of concern. “Just...don’t overdo it, alright? The people of Montwise might not be too happy if we destroy their graveyard, even though it’s supposedly haunted.”

“There’s no need to be concerned about that,” he replied with a flippant smile. “Unlike most of the elements, light magic generally leaves structures and vegetation undamaged. I will of course be certain to remain mindful of all of you, however. There’s no telling just how much or how little control I’ll have, or what shape the spell will actually take when cast.”

“Oh! You should try to shape it into something cool,” said Ochette, turning from her place at Osvald’s side to walk backwards so that she could look up at him. Her grin was bright (it was always bright), and it easily managed to chase away some of the gloom clinging to the rather foreboding cemetery. “Like maybe a giant bird!”

Ochette seemed to really like birds, her own lightning magic often taking the shape of one.

“Or a sword!”

That would be more Hikari’s thing, if the prince had a greater aptitude for magic.

“Oh, I know, a big dragon!”

“I’m not sure if a dragon really fits with the ‘holy’ magic thing,” said Throné, and Temenos tried very hard not to laugh at the indignant pout those words earned her. Ochette was far too endearing sometimes.

“As impressive as that would be,” he began, “I think I shall settle for just being able to cast it at all. We still don’t know if this is even going to work—a feat like this may very well be beyond me, despite what I said to Castti, though it rather pains me to admit it. If this does work, however, then I can certainly experiment with it more later. Eventually, perhaps I will be able to shape it into something interesting.”

He highly doubted that, but it made the beastling smile, her tail swishing back and forth in excitement, and that was good enough for him. With nothing more to say on the matter, she turned her attention back to the road, still looking quite pleased, but a moment later he saw her head snap over to the side, looking off as if something ahead of them had caught her eye.

“Hey, what’s that?” she asked, pointing to a spot in the distance. However, before any of them could turn to see just what the hunter was looking at, she had already started bounding over to it with Mahina right on her tail, leaving the three of them with no choice but to follow quickly or be left behind. Ochette’s eyesight, even in the dark (or perhaps especially in the dark), was significantly better than theirs, and so it was impossible to tell just what had caught her interest.

It turned out to be a chalice.

A very decorative chalice, sitting upon a somewhat creepy altar (he found it creepy, anyway, because despite being rather old, it was completely intact and even had candles on it, lit by what had to be some sort of magic. Earlier, he hadn’t actually believed the townspeople, but perhaps the graveyard really was a little bit haunted after all).

The grail looked to be made out of solid gold, adorned with blue and white gems along the bowl and even some smaller ones around the base. Oddly enough, much like the altar it was sat upon, there was not a hint of tarnish on it, not even so much as dirt or dust despite having been there for who knew how long. It was rather remarkable. There was definitely magic at play here.

Ochette, however, seemed rather disappointed at her find.

“A cup?” she said, her ears drooping as she crossed her arms over her chest, unimpressed. “I was hoping for something better...”

“It’s a very pretty cup,” Throné told her, the attempt at condolence falling quite short, especially given the fact that she was clearly attempting not to smile in amusement. Without any caution whatsoever, she walked forward and plucked the chalice from its resting place, looking it over. “Solid gold, not just gold plated, and the gems look real too. It could be worth a decent sum of money.”

“It’s obviously magical,” said Osvald, arriving at the same conclusion that Temenos had, the only one that could explain its unnaturally pristine condition.

Moving closer, the inquisitor held out his hand and asked, “May I have a look, Throné?”

Without hesitating (something that he was rather proud of given both their natures, the proof of just how far they’d come), she placed the bejeweled goblet in his hand, watching him curiously as he looked it over. It didn’t particularly seem like anything special, even though it was indeed magical. However, he couldn’t help but feel like he had seen it somewhere before, its shape and colors familiar. He turned it over in his hands and gave a thoughtful hum.

“Well, Detective?”

“I believe I have seen this chalice before,” he said, “though I cannot remember where. Perhaps in a book of some sort?”

“We can always check the library later, once we’re done ‘experimenting,’” she said. “I’m sure they must have books about magical objects.”

That last statement was directed at Osvald, who nodded in affirmation, because of course Montwise’s vast library would have everything a scholar could possibly want when it came to the arcane.

“A sound suggestion,” the cleric replied, handing the chalice over to the former professor to tuck away in the bag they had brought with them. All things considered, it wasn’t a bad first find, despite Ochette’s obvious disappointment. “Let’s continue to look around, shall we?”

In the end, the rest of what they had managed to find wasn’t all that impressive, not even in the slightest, and he got the feeling that Throné would be having “words” later with the man who had claimed that the graveyard was teeming with “treasure” that had been left behind by both the dead and visitors alike. Still though, it wasn’t a completely wasted venture, as Temenos had been given plenty of time to think while they meandered along and occasionally fought off skeletons and the local wildlife. He had slowly been getting into a different mindset when using his magic, focusing on the feel of it when he cast his spells instead of just going through the motions, trying to figure out ways to pour more magic in. Treasure hunting aside, the reason they were actually here was for him, so that he could practice casting Heavenly Shine, so that he could get the gist of what needed to be done.

So that he could find out if he was truly capable of using a spell that had only ever been used by a god.

The smaller, weaker monsters wouldn’t do; there was no way they would survive long enough for him to get any further than the thinking portion of his plan. They needed something that would last, something that his friends wouldn’t kill right away but that they could also hold off without him while he attempted to use Heavenly Shine. He had been hoping that there would be something suitable in the graveyard for him to practice on, because having an actual target was the only way he would be able to get this to work. Not to mention the fact that he had wanted to do this away from prying eyes (and worried apothecaries), because a bunch of onlookers or curious passersby would only ever make this more complicated than it already was.

Surely there had to be something here that would be perfect for his experiment...

An opportunity presented itself when they reached the far end of the graveyard.

After traveling for so many months, it had become very easy to tell the difference between monsters that were just sort of “run of the mill” and those that were exceptionally more powerful. The thing, whatever it was, that suddenly descended on the hill in front of them definitely belonged to the latter. It looked like some sort of chimera, almost like the monstrosities that Harvey had created in his lab but less grotesque. Every part of its body seemed as though it belonged on something else—a ram’s horns, a lizard’s tail, bat-like wings—and yet each out-of-place piece flowed seamlessly together into one massive and rather daunting creature.

He hoped they would be able to handle it. Between the four of them, they made for a fairly balanced team. Except for the fact that his plan was to expend all of his magic in a single attack, rather than playing the role of the healer like he was normally meant to. If things started to look bad though, he would abandon his plan and help his friends, because this little experiment certainly wasn’t worth anyone’s life. They had come out here with him willingly, and therefore he would not allow any harm to befall them.

For the time being, however, he was going to trust that they would be alright.

“Well,” began Throné as she drew her dagger, “guess we found the ‘hapless monster.’ You ready to get some practice in, Detective?”

“I shall certainly try to, but do not push yourselves too hard for my sake. If you require my aid, I expect you to say so.”

“Don’t worry, Temenos,” said Ochette, an arrow already nocked. “I think we can take him. This guy doesn’t look anywhere near as scary as some of the stuff we’ve fought.”

That was undoubtedly true. That horrific creature in the mines near Crackridge had been significantly more off-putting than this thing was. Still, it wouldn’t do to be too overconfident; that was a good way of getting hurt, something that Osvald was quick to point out.

“Stay focused,” the scholar said, “and don’t let it catch you by surprise. We need to fend it off on our own without taking too much damage.”

He glanced back at the inquisitor, and Temenos could see that intrigued gleam in his eyes, the one that almost made him look excited.

“We’ll buy you the time you need. Just make sure you call out before casting. I certainly don’t want to be caught in the blast.”

If he didn’t know any better, he would say there was genuine humor in that deadpan tone (a rare treat indeed), but the one thing he was certain he had heard in those borderline sardonic words was confidence. There seemed to be no doubt in his mind that Temenos would be able to pull this off, that it would work. That kind of blind belief sometimes baffled him, especially when it came from someone as logical as Osvald. Sure, Temenos was extremely competent when it came to magic, and he was an excellent problem solver to boot, but what he was trying to do here fell easily into the realm of things that might be beyond him, despite the fact that he himself genuinely believed that he could in fact do this with the right amount of practice.

He wondered if this was how most scholars of magic felt when trying something new for the first time: an odd mix of belief that it was possible and the fear of not being good enough to do it. Regardless, he was going to do it. That was the entire reason he had come here.

“I shall give you ample warning,” he said. “You have my word.”

And with that, the battle began.

Temenos knew they would keep the beast away from him. Their determination was a mirror of his own. All he had to do was not waste the time he was being given, and so without thinking too much about the battle occurring before him, he took a deep breath and tried to focus.

First, he needed to draw on his magic, just the same as if he were casting Holy Light or Luminescence. Then, instead of stopping there, he needed to keep going, to keep drawing on more, channeling it throughout his entire body. He tried to recall how it had felt back in Stormhail when he had been desperately trying to heal Crick, pouring more and more magic into Prayer for Plenty rather than repeatedly casting the spell again and again.

One continuous stream of magic, that’s what was needed. While he hadn’t used up all of it then like he was trying to do now, the same principal still applied. However, this time he needed to release it all at once, not gradually, which was unfortunately much easier said than done.

Still, it should be possible. Aelfric could do it, and just because he was a god, that didn’t mean it was impossible for humans. Magic was magic, after all; the same rules applied to everyone, and so there really was no reason why Temenos shouldn’t be able to do it too. He just needed to tap into that well of power within him, take hold of it, and then cast it into the world through a single, devastating spell.

Simple.

(It was not simple, not by a longshot, but pretending it was made the whole process a lot less nerve-racking. He needed every advantage he could get here).

...Earlier, Osvald had asked him if he’d found an incantation. It was a topic that had come up while they were flipping through tomes in the library. Words gave power to magic, allowing a caster to focus and solidify what it was they wanted to accomplish with their spell, shaping it alongside their will. Needless to say, the incantation that Aelfric had used in the scripture wouldn’t work for him, not entirely, but he had come up with something close enough, something that fell in line with his own emotions, his own reasons for wanting to master this spell.

There were quite a lot of them.

While it was true that light magic could technically be used without faith, without prayer, it was also true that it was made all the more potent when fueled by both, when it came from a place of genuine beseeching. Temenos wasn’t exactly known for being pious, at least not in the more traditional sense, but that wasn’t to say that he didn’t have any faith, only that he gave it sparingly, that he was careful about where he placed it. He believed in the gods, sure, but he also believed that his trust was better off in his own hands than theirs, that if there was something he wanted to achieve, he should simply do it himself.

However, when it came to holy magic, whether it be healing or light, a modicum of prayer was important—and Aelfric, despite all of his kind benevolence, his compassion towards humanity, the way the scriptures would often depict him as loving and sympathetic and patient, was terrifying when angered. Temenos had always found the dichotomy fascinating, had enjoyed the tales of righteous fury far more when compared to the tame and more proverbial ones that his fellow clerics had often clung to. Many of the children in Flamechurch had enjoyed those stories as well, the ones where the Flamebringer fought in defense of others, of Solistia, his anger over the atrocities committed by those who worshiped the darkness fueling the flame within.

He understood a little of what that was like now. That anger, that pain, that desire to make the ones responsible pay, to protect everything he held dear.

To hold on to what he still had, even if it left him broken and bloody in the end. Some things were worth everything. He was certain that the gods would agree.

Why else would they sacrifice themselves to stop Vide?

I have a prayer I need answered, Aelfric, he began silently to himself. Because I have decided to see this through. And if I am going to be your chosen cleric, then I need to be able to do more than I currently can. I will not forgive the ones who would cut down so many innocent lives for their own ends, and if you are in agreement with me, then let it be known.

Words gave magic power. Humans were incapable of casting without. A hindrance, in some regards, but...

Those words, those feelings, allowed their spells to achieve unfathomable results.

Temenos had never really been one to give in to anger; he usually just took everything in stride. Those kinds of emotions clouded one’s judgment, and as the inquisitor, he couldn’t allow personal feelings to get in the way of his job. A single moment of indecision, of vulnerability, of haste, could cost him everything.

In Stormhail, he had thrown all of that away. For perhaps the first time in his life, he had been furious. He had hated Cubaryi and Kaldena for what they had done, for their lies and deception, for the death of the pontiff, and for the betrayal of the earnest, loyal, just knight he had almost lost.

“You will pay!” he had shouted after the deputy had taunted him during the battle, continuing to rub Crick’s supposed “death” in his face. She had been wrong, but that hadn’t stopped the ache in his chest, the fire in his veins, and the need to strike her down where she stood, to wipe that smirk from her face.

Righteous fury, some would call it. Self-righteous was probably more apt. In truth, he had no idea if anything he had done or felt had been “righteous” or not—that was more for the gods to decide—but in that moment, he had understood the feeling of “fury” quite well.

It was unwise to rely on anger when using magic, but...

Sometimes, just like with those old stories about Aelfric, it was alright to be mad.

Especially on the behalf of others.

...He was pretty sure he knew what to do, what to say, how to make this work. He just hoped he would be able to control it.

But first...

“Ochette, Osvald, Throné!” he called out. “Fall back, now!”

His timing could not have been better as a heavy blow from Ochette and her axe brought the creature to its knees, one leg bending at an odd angle, clearly broken during the attack. With its wings partially shredded, it wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon, which left his friends plenty of time to vacate the area and move far enough behind him to hopefully avoid the blast. This kind of spell, Osvald had told him, would likely spread outward with him at its center (a magical conduit indeed). He could practically feel the magic in him burning as all of it was drawn to the surface.

Light and fire were not the same thing, yet so often light magic was referred to as a “flame.” Right now, with every inch of him alight, he could understand why.

Time to see if he could pull this off.

“Aelfric,” he began, closing his eyes as he prayed to the only one who could help him make this happen, as he grabbed hold of that bright magic and threw it out into the world, “unleash your fury!”

...Truth be told, he wasn’t entirely sure what he had been expecting to happen. It was better to simply not have expectations, as there was less of a chance of being disappointed that way, but what actually ended up happening was probably something he would never forget. Osvald had been right about how the magic would spread. Bright, golden light, brighter than any spell he had ever cast, suddenly engulfed his vision (he probably should’ve just kept his eyes shut, but curiosity was a powerful thing) before growing outward in a dome. The magic didn’t flow from him like it had when he had nearly drained his spirit a few days ago, a steady stream of mostly controlled power, but instead it burst forth almost violently, one second flooding every fiber of his being and then the next vanishing as it was unleashed in a single, overwhelming spell.

He didn’t feel much like a caster in that moment, more like a vessel, a mere channel for the magic to travel through, summoned by an unbelievable force. It was incredible, that rush of pure light and power, enveloping his senses and making him feel weightless. Distantly, amidst the rushing of magic in his ears (or perhaps that was just the sound of his heart beating, his blood pumping), he heard a piercing, inhuman shriek from what had to be the chimera-esque beast. He really hoped that this would be enough to kill it, especially since this kind of spell really was an all or nothing sort of gamble. He would be rendering himself completely useless after this with not a drop of spirit to be spared. Becoming a potential liability was not something he particularly cared for, and he would surely never hear the end of it from Castti if someone got hurt because of his negligence. This needed to be enough.

Eventually, the light began to fade, dying down to a soft glow that almost seemed to coat everything in the area in a gentle sheen (he was grateful to see that he had been right in the end, that even such a high concentration of light magic still left the trees, the paths, and even all of the gravestones completely untouched), and when he looked to where the monster had once been, he found nothing but smoke and ash, the remains slowly dissipating into the air, scattering with the wind.

It took a moment for the realization to fully dawn.

...He did it.

He actually did it. Kind of. It had been a little bit wild and uncontrolled (the dome hadn’t really stayed a dome, fracturing in places with tendrils of light bleeding out), and the radius had been a lot smaller than what he had originally intended as his magic had started to fizzle out with his stamina, but the important thing was that it had worked, that it was possible, that all that time spent theorizing in the library had been worth it. It hadn’t been for naught. With practice, he could surely use it the way Aelfric did. Repeated experimentation was definitely the key. All he had to do was...was... Oh.

That was the ground rushing up to meet him, wasn’t it?

Temenos didn’t even feel it when his knees decided to buckle. In fact, he suddenly found that he couldn’t feel much of anything at all. One moment he had been fine—a little tired, but definitely fine—and then the next he was falling with no way to prevent it. The Staff of Judgment was already lying on the ground (when did that happen?), and he absolutely would have joined it there if not for the quick intervention of his friends.

“Mahina!”

The shout was accompanied by a gust of wind before the hood of his cloak was snagged and pulled back, keeping him upright just long enough for Throné to reach him. She immediately took the entirety of his weight, her arms wrapping around his waist, and he found that he was helpless to do anything but slump against her, every drop of his energy having been bled away alongside his magic.

It wasn’t...like the other times. He had run out of spirit before, during some of their more harrowing fights, but...usually that happened gradually, where the exhaustion slowly crept up on him the closer he got to running out. This sensation was something else entirely, perhaps like being dragged under the water by a massive wave, helpless to do anything but sink and possibly drown. He felt drained and exhausted and somewhat nauseous, and it also felt like there was a gaping hole in him somewhere even though he was certain there wasn’t—and then to top it all off, he couldn’t...

He couldn’t move. Every inch of him from the neck down felt completely and utterly numb. Like his body just wasn’t there anymore.

He wasn’t entirely sure what to think about that.

“Temenos,” Throné said, shifting his dead weight in her arms a bit, trying to get a better hold. “You alright?”

He didn’t know how to answer that either.

“I...I don’t know,” he told her, because he genuinely didn’t. He had no idea if his current condition was worth worrying about or not, and a part of him was gradually becoming too exhausted to care. That being said, it was pointless to lie to her—to any of them, really—and so without even bothering to come up with something clever, he simply gave her the truth. “I do not seem to have any feeling left in my limbs.”

The look Throné gave him could only be described as alarmed, which was a look he did not often see on her face. He tried to reassure her.

“I’m certain it’s only temporary.”

He wasn’t sure how well he managed it, but the slight hint of exasperation that he could see in her eyes was certainly better than the fear. He’d take it.

The sound of footsteps behind him drew his attention, even though he was incapable of turning to look. It’s not as if he didn’t know who it was.

“That was impressive,” he heard Osvald say, which might very well be one of the nicest things the man had ever said to him. If he weren’t so tired, he definitely would’ve reveled in it. “While your control could certainly use some work, it was a good first attempt. This proves that it’s possible at the very least. I’m curious as to what calculations you used—we discussed several options back in the library. How did you choose to go about it?”

As much as he would’ve liked to answer that question, Temenos was in no fit state to have this conversation. He was tired, he couldn’t feel most of his body, and the parts that he could feel, like his stomach and head, were choosing to rebel against him. He felt sick and hungover, as if he had downed an entire bottle of wine in one sitting, and all he wanted to do was be dropped into a nice, soft bed and sleep until he stopped feeling like he was dying.

“Osvald,” he said with a significant amount of effort, forcing his mouth to shape the words and closing his eyes in an attempt to fend off the pain in his skull, “I promise you, we can discuss everything about it later, but right now I rather feel like someone tried to poison me and then ran me over with a carriage.”

“It’s because you lack stamina,” the scholar told him in no uncertain terms, ever blunt and to the point. “And because you were unsure of what to expect. You should be able to brace for it better next time, now that you know how it feels. Gaining more control over the magic will help as well. Perhaps Castti might even be able to provide some sort of concoction to keep it from becoming so taxing on your body. We should ask her once we get back.”

...Oh gods, Castti.

She was going to kill him. He had brushed off all of her concerns, her objections, only for things to end up pretty much exactly the way she had expected. She was certain to have a thing or two (or several) to say about this, especially since his original plan of sneaking back and pretending that nothing had happened was no longer an option. Though, to be fair, it had probably stopped being an option the moment he decided to bring Ochette with him. She wasn’t exactly one for lying. Even if he asked her to keep it a secret, she would likely end up letting the truth slip out eventually. This had been a doomed outing from the start.

The arms around him shifted, and then almost as if she could read his mind, Throné said, “Come on, let’s get out of here. We can figure out what we’re going to say to Castti on the way back. You’re probably not the only one she’s going to yell at for this.”

True enough. While Ochette would probably escape her wrath (there was definitely some favoritism when it came to their resident beastling), Throné and Osvald were unlikely to be that lucky. Their apothecary was usually a very calm, mild-mannered woman (though she did have a bit of a mischievous streak), but she was certainly not afraid to call people out when she thought they were being foolish. However, her frustration with them, whenever one of them did anything particularly questionable with their health, always came from a place of genuine concern and worry—very much like a mother indeed. That being said, it didn’t make her words any less biting or her scorn easier to deal with. She had a way of cowing even the most abrasive of people (a certain “Master Edmund” definitely came to mind).

They had best head back and get this over with.

“A little help, Professor?” Throné called, the arms around him shifting once again. “He really is just dead weight right now.”

The inquisitor would’ve glared at her if he could. Instead, he simply remarked, “That was rather rude of you, Throné. Just what kind of assistant are you?”

“Well, it’s the truth. You’re pretty helpless like this, and it’s not like I can carry you.”

She wasn’t wrong, as much as he would’ve preferred it to be otherwise. There really was nothing he could do in this state. He was tired, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep his eyes open. In fact, he was pretty sure he completely blacked out for a moment, because before he knew it, he was being carried on Osvald’s back as the four of them made their way through the graveyard.

While he was certainly grateful not to have been simply thrown over the man’s shoulder like how Throné was carrying their bag of supplies, it was still kind of...well...

“This is rather embarrassing,” he mumbled into the scholar’s shoulder, too exhausted to raise his head but apparently not exhausted enough to keep his thoughts to himself.

“It can’t be helped,” Osvald replied matter-of-factly, “seeing as how you’re unable to move by yourself. There is little point in being embarrassed over a necessity.”

The cleric breathed a deep sigh and told himself that getting irritated over this would be a waste of energy (what little he had left). Despite the fact that he was currently being carried like one, he was not in fact a child and therefore was above being petulant over the situation. He was in absolutely no position to complain. He was in no position to do much of anything, really, and as his eyelids began to droop more and more, he found himself caring less and less.

Until they reached the ladder that would lead them back into Montwise proper, that was, when a problem quickly became apparent.

The scholar jostled him, just a bit, to get his attention.

“Are you capable of holding on?” he asked, to which Temenos thought the answer was obvious.

“No,” he responded rather sleepily. “I cannot even feel my arms, much less move them.”

He was met with a thoughtful hum, followed by a somewhat worrying proclamation of, “I suppose it can’t be helped then.”

...Just for a moment—only a moment, mind you—the inquisitor had the worrying thought that his friends might just leave his dead weight sitting next to the ladder until they could return with help, but the more logical part of him (the part that was unfortunately trying very hard to fall asleep right now) quickly cast that notion aside as improbable. His fellow travelers would never abandon him like that, not even for a brief moment and certainly not in a place like this, so instead he found himself wondering just what Osvald was getting at.

He didn’t have to wonder long, for better or worse.

It would seem that his earlier thoughts had been prophetic. Before he could even process the fact that he was being moved (he really was so very tired), he found the world spinning before his eyes until the ground was suddenly above him and most of his vision was filled with Osvald’s brown coat.

It took him a moment, between the feeling of blood rushing to his head and his stomach churning, to realize that he was hanging upside down, thrown over the scholar’s shoulder so that he could use both hands to climb the ladder.

Let it be known that Temenos understood the necessity. He understood that this was kind of the only option in order to get him out of the graveyard that didn’t involve waiting for an indefinite amount of time until he could move again. His body was still very numb. However, understanding that it was “necessary” did not make it any less embarrassing or unfair, nor did it help the rather sick, dizzy feeling that came from hanging upside down. He wanted to complain about it, to do or say something to express his displeasure with the situation, even if just to vent a little bit of his frustration over the sorry state he was in.

His body, in yet another act of rebellion, chose to pass out instead.

He was never going to hear the end of this, surely...

Hopefully the next time he tried to cast Heavenly Shine (because there would definitely be a next time), the results would be less debilitating.

Chapter Text

“I’ve brought you some books. I know you must be getting bored. However, I still insist on a few more days of bedrest before allowing you to move around without assistance. Your wounds are healing well, and I don’t want to risk a setback with your recovery.”

“I understand.”

“I’ll be back to check on you in a few hours. If you find that none of the books interest you, I can send Agnea to the library later.”

“Thank you, but I’m sure it won’t be necessary. Please don’t worry about me, you’ve done more than enough as it is. I am certain I can keep myself entertained for a few hours, at least.”

So he had said, but...as it turned out, Crick was finding it somewhat difficult to concentrate. He wasn’t entirely sure why. He liked reading, and Castti had actually picked out some pretty interesting books for him even without knowing his preferences, but for some reason his mind just kept wandering. He couldn’t seem to focus on the words in front of him. He wasn’t exactly bored, per se, and yet...

With a heavy sigh, Crick shut his book and turned his gaze to the window.

Montwise was a rather beautiful city, so different from Stormhail in just about every conceivable way. It had been a long time since he had last visited, having had no real reason to do so, and his last stay had been nowhere near long enough to truly take in the sights. From his room, he could see people walking the streets, scholars with their noses in books, and street vendors peddling a variety of wares. It somehow felt bustling and peaceful at the same time, an almost laidback sort of busy where everyone simply went at their own pace.

The air was crisp without being cold, the atmosphere was pleasant and warm and colorful. A stark contrast to the world he had left behind.

He had left so much behind...

It...still didn’t quite feel real to him, the fact that, within just a handful of days, his entire life had fallen apart. While it wasn’t the first time that such a thing had happened to him, his family’s fall from grace couldn’t possibly compare to almost being killed by Captain Kaldena, to having his trust and faith shattered in such an unforgiving way. Everything that he had been working towards over the past several years, everything that he had accomplished, the path that he had chosen for himself, all of it had been lost to him the moment Vados had gone missing, the moment Temenos was almost attacked in the cemetery, the moment Kaldena had stabbed him with her shadowed sword. In the span of just a single day, he had lost everything.

...Well, almost everything. By some miracle, he still had his life, and...he had Temenos.

He still had Temenos, who had somehow managed to find him in the dead of night when he had been bleeding to death in the snow.

Temenos, who had poured almost all of his magic into healing him, who had dragged him back to the inn along with Throné, who had followed the trail that Crick had left behind and then fought Cubaryi in the depths of the Sacred Guard’s headquarters only to emerge victorious with the help of his friends.

He had Temenos, someone that he trusted, someone that he believed in, someone who wouldn’t betray the faith that was placed in him. Someone who cared about the truth and wasn’t driven by any sort of selfish motivation, someone that Crick respected and admired and wanted to do everything that he possibly could to help, no matter the cost. He may have lost the Sacred Guard, the place he had made for himself in this world, but that didn’t make him lost. He could move forward from here.

He was pretty good at picking himself back up.

Of course, that didn’t mean it wasn’t going to take time for him to recover. The road to healing was a long one, unfortunately, and he would likely end up dwelling on what happened for a long time to come yet. He needed to grow stronger, both in body and mind, so that what happened in the depths of the Sacred Guard’s headquarters would never happen again. If he had only been more careful, if he had just stopped investigating after finding that hidden door, waited until morning, until he wasn’t alone, then maybe...maybe he wouldn’t have...

Maybe he could’ve made it out of that mess without almost—

The knight was suddenly pulled from his thoughts by the sound of footsteps approaching the door. More than one set, if he was hearing things right. It sounded like several people, in fact, and he was immediately curious, because he was pretty sure that it hadn’t even been a full hour since Castti had left him to his reading, meaning that it wasn’t time for her to be checking up on him yet.

Perhaps it was some of the other travelers, or perhaps it was actually Temenos for a change, returning from wherever he had gone off to earlier. The inquisitor (much to Crick’s disappointment, though he would never admit to it outright) had been scarce these last few days, meaning that they hadn’t had a proper chance to talk after what happened to them both in Stormhail. Part of that was due to Crick having spent much of the last few days sleeping, which Castti had told him was perfectly normal, that he would heal faster if he slept, but the other part was the fact that Temenos kept disappearing on him, that he kept leaving and staying gone for most of the day.

It was getting ridiculous. The two of them were sharing a room at the inn, for heaven’s sake—you would think that there would’ve been at least a few minutes to have a conversation—and yet it seemed like the cleric was going to bed well after him and waking long before him. That couldn’t possibly be healthy, getting so little sleep. He was starting to wonder if Temenos had some sort of aversion to sleeping. That, or the inquisitor was purposefully avoiding him. He would rather not think about that though (because it kind of hurt when he did).

...It would be nice if Temenos was the one approaching. Crick very much wanted to talk to him about what happened, though preferably not with an audience. He didn’t know the others well enough yet (truth be told, he barely knew them at all), and so he wasn’t sure if he would be comfortable having such a personal conversation in their presence. Those footsteps definitely belonged to more than one person though, and as they got closer, he could hear what sounded like words being spoken. Curious, he turned his attention fully to the door and strained his ears towards the sound.

The voices were growing louder, and then quite suddenly, he heard crystal clear, “What were the four of you thinking?”

Okay, so not Temenos then. That was definitely Castti, and...she sounded angry. Or maybe frustrated. It was certainly one of the two. Before he could ponder on that detail any further, however, the door to the room flew open, and what he saw caused his heart to leap into his throat.

Castti hurriedly walked into the room, her expression tight with irritation, and behind her was Osvald, the somewhat intimidating scholar. However, it was the figure currently slumped against his back, eyes closed and face almost as pale as his hair, arms dangling over the man’s shoulders limply (lifelessly) that drew the entirety of Crick’s attention.

Temenos.

Osvald was carrying a very unconscious Temenos.

Crick opened his mouth—to call the inquisitor’s name, to ask what was going on, what had happened—but all that came out was a borderline horrified whisper of, “Temenos, what...?” before his voice failed him completely, his chest growing tight as he watched the scene play out.

Just what in the gods’ names had happened? Why was Temenos unconscious? Did someone attack him, was he injured, had he fallen victim to some sort of illness or curse? How did he end up like this? Was he going to be alright? Surely Castti would be able to heal him, to fix whatever was wrong—surely he was in no real danger, not after everything that had already happened, because that just wouldn’t be...it wouldn’t be...

It wouldn’t be fair now, would it (to take what little Crick still had)?

Except the world wasn’t fair. He knew that rather well.

And because of that, he was slowly starting to panic.

Fortunately, before he could slip into full-blown worry or get himself too worked up in his wounded state, a hand fell onto his right shoulder, the touch light but still enough to startle him, effectively dragging him from his thoughts.

He turned his head and came face to face with Throné. Somehow, she had managed to slip around his bed in order to stand by the window, getting as far away from Castti and Osvald as she could without resorting to just not being in the room. Crick hadn’t even seen her enter (though to be fair, he had been rather preoccupied at the time).

With his mind monetarily cleared, he was able to catch what the apothecary and scholar were saying. It both was and wasn’t reassuring.

“He’ll be fine,” said Osvald, in a tone that implied he had said those words more than once already. The fact that he was still holding the very unconscious inquisitor did not seem to lend them any credence. “This is little more than exhaustion caused by draining his spirit.”

“He’s unconscious,” was the reply he got, pointed and unimpressed.

“He’s been slipping in and out of wakefulness,” the scholar corrected, which Crick felt wasn’t the wisest idea since Castti didn’t seem to be in the mood to argue semantics right now. “He awoke just a few minutes ago, long enough to complain about the situation and request that I stop carrying him like a bag of vegetables. I don’t believe there’s any cause for concern.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. Now lay him on the bed please.”

Osvald did as instructed, and honestly, Temenos didn’t look any better lying in a bed than he had slumped against the scholar’s back, but before that seed of panic could start to take root once again, the hand on his shoulder tightened. He looked up into a pair of dark, knowing eyes with just a hint of a smile in them, before Throné leaned down and said softly, “He really will be alright. He just overdid it a bit. Not surprising, considering the spell he was trying to use.”

...A spell?

Temenos had rendered himself unconscious from using magic?

This was the result of a spell?

Confused, worried, and curious in equal measure, he cleared his throat and cautiously asked, “What was he trying to do?”

In lieu of answering, Throné just kind of...looked at him for a moment. Her already piercing gaze sharpened, similar to how Temenos sometimes looked when he was evaluating something, adding the pieces up in his head and coming to a conclusion. It felt a bit like he was being pulled apart carefully and then examined, but for what reason he didn’t know. He had only interacted with her a few times so far, barely long enough to hear a bit of her origin, but he had quickly learned that she was incredibly discerning and observant, that she had more than earned the playful moniker of “assistant” from their mutual friend.

Whatever she was looking for in him, he prayed she would not find him wanting.

Eventually, the former Blacksnake seemed to come to a decision, and without a word, she pulled a small, unassuming book from the bag she was carrying.

“Here,” she said, handing it to him. “We borrowed this from the library.”

Upon closer inspection, it looked to be a book of scripture, though not one that he was admittedly familiar with. It was old, far older than the ones his family had kept in their study, older than even the ones in the Sacred Guard’s headquarters. Of course Montwise, home to the largest library in all of Solistia, would have even religious texts that were uncommon in the rest of the world. He certainly wouldn’t mind spending a day perusing their many shelves. Or several days (again, he rather enjoyed reading).

But what did this have to do with his question?

Before he could ask, Throné opened it for him and flipped to a page that had been bent at the corner (he tried not to be indignant about that—this was a library book, what nerve), and then after scanning the contents quickly, she pointed to a particular passage.

“It’s this one,” she told him. “This is what he was trying to do. Or what he did, I suppose.”

Stealing a quick glance at the other side of the room, where Castti was examining Temenos and Osvald was standing towards the end of the bed with Ochette (he hadn’t noticed her earlier either, just when did she sneak in?), the knight gave his attention to the book in front of him, hoping to make sense of the situation.

In the end, he found himself even more confused than before.

The story was about Aelfric, about a spell that Crick had never heard of before—Heavenly Shine—and about how said spell was capable of reducing even the most powerful of creatures, those fueled by the deepest darkness to naught but ash.

A pure explosion of holy magic, one that required the entirety of a person’s magical well—their spiritual power, so to speak—leaving not a drop of it left. Simply put, it drained one’s spirit completely. In a single instant.

That was...

That was how Temenos had ended up like this? He had tried to use Heavenly Shine? But why would he...?

Why would he even think of trying something like that? Where did he even get the idea from? What made him think that a human could use the same spell as a god? Sure, Temenos was far from humble, his confidence bordering on sheer arrogance from time to time, but Crick had never really thought of him as being downright reckless before, even though he didn’t always act with the amount of caution that he probably should, that a normal cleric would.

It didn’t make sense. Why attempt a spell like that? Why do this to himself?

Why?

Why would he...?

“Why did he—”

A very deep, very weary sigh suddenly drew his attention to the other side of the room, effectively cutting off his question. The sigh had come from Castti, who was leaning over her patient with her head bent low, hands resting against the bed, and even though he couldn’t see her face, just the curve of her back, she looked tired. And not in a way that implied a lack of sleep. Everyone else in the room must have sensed it too, the air around them growing heavy, and from the corner of his eye, he saw Ochette’s ears droop, her hands fidgeting with the Staff of Judgment that she had carried in for their unconscious friend.

Innocent and straightforward, she asked the apothecary, “Are you mad at us?”

It took a moment, as well as another sigh, before Castti broke the silence and replied, “I’m not mad at you, I just...”

She took a long, slow breath before continuing.

“I just wish that one of you would have told me. I knew he was going to try this no matter what I said, but I thought he would... I thought he would wait, or that he would at least make sure I was there in case something happened. I wasn’t expecting him to sneak off like that with just the three of you.”

“You made it rather obvious in the library that you disapproved,” said Osvald, though there was no real accusation behind his words, just the simple stating of a fact.

“And when has that ever stopped any of us from helping each other when we decide to do something reckless? If I had been there, I could have at least given him a concoction to help—something with skybalm, plum leaf, and pomegranate could have made a big difference. After everything that’s happened, I thought he would be more careful, but...I suppose I can understand why he would be impatient about this...”

Those steady hands, kind and sure, curled around the fabric beneath them, bunching it in two lightly trembling fists.

“I definitely know the feeling of wanting to do more,” she continued, the words soft but emphatic, touched by a pain that Crick didn’t know but one that he could feel all the same, “of feeling like what I can do isn’t enough. But as mortals, there’s a limit to what we can accomplish. Our bodies can only withstand so much. It’s true that you can’t die just from draining your spirit, but that’s usually done over a period of time, through the repeated use of spells, not instantly in a matter of seconds. It’s no wonder that his entire body went numb and he lost consciousness—and you can bet that once he wakes up, we’ll definitely be having words about this.”

That touch of irritation was almost enough to calm his nerves as Crick hung on to the apothecary’s every word, her voice perfectly steady despite all that she had said.

But what came next, however—the unexpected revelation that fell from her lips without thought, without effort—stole the breath from his lungs and shocked him to the very depth of his being. And he immediately knew that he had not been meant to overhear.

That in her exhaustion, Castti had likely forgotten that he was there.

“We might have been blessed by the gods,” she said softly, wearily, “but that doesn’t make us the same as them. We can’t expect that we’re always going to come out of things okay. That’s the whole reason why we’re traveling together, so that we don’t have to handle everything alone, so that we can look after each other. No matter what, the eight of us need to—”

“What?”

He hadn’t meant to speak. He really hadn’t. The question just kind of...slipped out.

And when it did, everyone in the room promptly froze. Castti in particular looked like a statue, as silent and still as chiseled stone, but after just a moment of hesitation, she straightened her back, her posture stiff and tense, and then turned around to face him.

The expression she wore was carefully blank, giving nothing away aside from a wariness resting behind clear blue eyes, but Crick, in his moment of shock, barely registered any of it. Not the deep, aggravated sigh of “great, just great” from Osvald, the anxious flitting of Ochette’s attention between the five of them, the sound of Throné muttering “Temenos isn’t going to like this” as she leaned back against the wall, none of it.

In that moment, the only thing that mattered to him was the truth.

“Blessed by the gods?” he asked, the words feeling heavy on his tongue even though his voice sounded breathless in his ears. He was having a...hard time believing that he had heard her right, despite knowing that he wasn’t mistaken. “What exactly do you... What did you mean by that?”

He wanted answers. He wanted to understand what was going on even though he feared what might be said. Sticking his nose where it didn’t belong had almost gotten him killed last time, but this time, surely...

Surely it was alright to seek the truth? He could trust these people, he knew that, because he trusted Temenos. And Temenos clearly trusted his friends. They wouldn’t leave Crick out of this, not when it involved the inquisitor, not when being “blessed” had something to do with, well...everything from the sounds of it.

Strangely enough, his mind wasn’t trying to reject the notion, to deem it as impossible, to question why the gods would bless these people in particular, to ask what made the eight of them so special. It simply wasn’t his place. He had always believed in the gods, in the Sacred Flame, and after meeting Inquisitor Roi, he had dedicated himself fully to serving them, to following their doctrine to the best of his abilities. That hadn’t really changed. He was still a knight, after all, still a Godsblade; he had no intention of relinquishing his title. Because in the end, it wasn’t just the Sacred Guard that he had sworn an oath to.

The goal he was trying to achieve, the things that were important to him...they went so far beyond his dedication to the church. And one of the things that mattered to him (more than he would have ever thought possible, that he would gladly risk his own life to protect) was lying in the bed next to his, completely dead to the world because he had tried to use a spell that belonged to a god, that had required him to use the entirety of his magic.

It was...aggravating to see him like that.

Crick didn’t know what kind of path his life was going to take moving forward, where this new road—one diverged from the Sacred Guard—would lead him, but what he did know was that he wanted to help Temenos, no matter the cost. He wanted to stand at the inquisitor’s side, be a sword and shield for the man who had done so much for him, who had saved him in more ways than one. And in order to do that, to stand on equal ground with him, he needed to know the truth.

What did it mean, exactly, to be “blessed” by the gods?

At first, no one said anything. Castti in particular was biting her lower lip, her forced apathy from earlier having bled away into something worried and unsure. It looked like she really didn’t want to answer him, or perhaps she was simply sorting through her options, trying to find the correct thing to say. Osvald and Ochette weren’t speaking up either, which was probably pretty normal for the former but not so much for the latter. The scholar looked relatively impartial to the situation while the beastling clearly wanted to break the silence but didn’t seem to know quite how to go about it or what she should do.

Therefore, it came as really no surprise to him that, out of the four of them, it was Throné who finally spoke up, shattering the awkward tension.

“Well, I guess there’s no point in trying to pretend that didn’t happen,” she said, sounding more or less unfazed as she took a seat on the windowsill and directed her gaze to Castti. “We might as well tell him. He was going to find out eventually anyway.”

“I know, but Temenos was...” the apothecary began, only to trail off as she chose her words carefully. “I’m certain he would want to be the one to...”

“Yeah, well, that’s too bad for him. It’s his own fault this happened. If he complains about it, then the two of you can just call it even for all the headaches he’s about to give you, since he’s pretty set on learning that spell. This probably won’t be the last time he’ll end up like this.”

The sigh that escaped from Castti this time was painfully resigned, in more ways than one, and the knight found himself wondering just how much trouble Temenos had caused for her over the months, what with his penchant for doing things his own way, not caring about how many rules he had to break or the danger he might end up in because of it. As a cleric, not to mention a somewhat high-ranking member of the church, one would assume that he knew how to behave in a manner befitting of his station, at least most of the time.

Crick, however, knew better than to make that assumption by now. Temenos was by far the most unconventional cleric he had ever met.

Strangely enough, it didn’t bother him as much as it used to. It didn’t bother him at all, really. In some ways, it was even kind of endearing (which was yet another thing he would never admit to outright, lest he give the impression that the inquisitor’s casual blasphemy was somehow acceptable when it absolutely wasn’t). Hopefully, as their paths continued to intersect, tangled together now to the point where he didn’t even want to try and unravel them, he would get to know his friend even better, find more things to admire, more to be fond of, even if there would probably always be habits to criticize.

Like interrogating random civilians, breaking and entering, chastising the gods, the list went on and on.

Rendering himself unconscious was definitely a new one though. It was also one that would likely happen again, according to Throné. He didn’t particularly like the notion. Temenos needed to take better care of himself.

Trying to use the same spell as a god, honestly... Except that...

Except that Temenos had been “blessed by the gods,” apparently—and not just Temenos but all of them, all eight of them, that was what Castti had said. Seriously, what did that even... How did one go about becoming blessed—

“Alright.”

Pulled from his thoughts, he found himself looking up into the somewhat wary but resolute eyes of Castti. She still didn’t seem particularly comfortable about any of this, but it was obvious that she had come to a decision, one that clearly involved telling Crick the truth.

“I suppose there’s no point in avoiding it,” she continued. “It’s not like I can ask you to just forget about what I said.”

She could, but he wouldn’t. It would be impossible for him to do so. The questions would surely eat away at him for the rest of the day, the rest of the night, the rest of however long it took before someone finally gave him the answers. That would be nothing short of torture.

Honestly, even with answers, this was still probably going to eat away at him. It would kind of all depend on just what they had to say.

He remained quiet and waited, his gaze steady and firm even though it felt like something was twisting his insides into knots. He was nervous. He wondered how long the story was, if they would tell him everything, if he was allowed to ask for clarification if there was something he didn’t understand.

He wanted to understand.

With one more sigh, Castti sat down on the edge of Temenos’s bed and folded her hands in her lap. From the corner of his eye, he saw Ochette take a seat on the bed as well.

All four of them remained in the room, even Osvald. A united front for whatever came next.

The apothecary took a deep breath.

And in that kind, patient voice of hers, she told him the truth.

“I suppose we should start at the beginning.”

At some point during the afternoon, Crick had fallen asleep. He hadn’t thought he would be able to, if he were being honest. After having his head filled with tales that sounded impossible, with stories that had made him realize just how little he truly knew about the world, leaving him with almost as many questions as answers, he had been certain that he wouldn’t be able to sleep at all. In the end, however, he had managed to doze off. His body still needed to rest so that it could recover, after all. While his wounds were healing remarkably well according to Castti, thanks in no small part to both hers and Temenos’s quick actions on the night that he had been injured, it was obviously still going to be a while before he was back to full strength.

Thankfully, however, the time that he remained asleep was gradually becoming less and less. It also meant that it was easier for him to wake when he wanted to, that he wouldn’t immediately be pulled back down into slumber when something happened to reach him through the haziness of sleep.

So when he heard voices to the left of him, speaking in tones that weren’t exactly quiet but that he could’ve ignored if he had truly wanted, he made the decision to force his eyes open and drag himself back to full consciousness.

He awoke just in time to hear the tail end of what had probably been a lecture.

“Honestly, I can’t believe you would be so reckless.” That was definitely Castti again. “I can understand wanting to try it, but why did you pick the graveyard? Did it ever occur to you that the monsters there might have been dangerous? What if your spell hadn’t worked? What if you ended up like this for nothing and someone had gotten hurt trying to protect you? You should have waited until all of us were together before doing something so foolish.”

“Castti, please, my head...” The words were accompanied by a soft groan. “You’re too loud...”

“You brought this on yourself,” she replied, “and so you’ll get no sympathy from me.”

She did lower her voice towards the end, however, despite what she had said.

Crick, fairly certain of what he would see at this point, turned his head towards the bed next to him.

Sure enough, Castti was standing there, hovering over Temenos—who still didn’t look any better even though he was finally conscious. He watched as the apothecary carefully reached down and helped the cleric to raise his head, just enough to allow him to drink a concoction, before carefully settling him against his pillows.

“There, that should at least help with the headache,” she told him. “I’m afraid there’s not much that can be done about the numbness though. You’ll just have to wait until it wears off.”

“It’s already wearing off, and I can assure you the sensation is not pleasant.”

“Like a thousand tiny pinpricks?”

“Yes, and I’ll thank you not to sound so amused by it.”

“Like I said, you brought this on yourself. Next time, maybe think things through a little more. You’re usually pretty good at that.”

“Yes, well, we all have our moments, I’m afraid.”

Listening to the two of them talk, it was obvious that they were close. As the two healers of their group, they had likely spent a good deal of time coordinating their efforts to manage everyone’s health. There was a candidness to their words, a sort of comfort that he wasn’t used to when it came to Temenos. While the inquisitor could be both cryptic and straightforward, depending on whatever suited his purposes at the time, there was always a certain distance with him, reflected in the way his amused smiles so rarely seemed to reach his eyes.

Perhaps being tired and somewhat wounded made him more honest. Or perhaps he had come to let his walls down around his fellow travelers. That was a...complicated thought though, and the emotion that began to well up in Crick at the mere suggestion was a strange one and not something that he cared to examine too closely (it was not jealously. He was absolutely not jealous). It made sense for Temenos to trust his friends, the people that he had spent the last several months with as they all trekked across Solistia. It would be stranger if he didn’t trust them, especially after just how much they had all been through together.

After being “chosen” together. Being blessed by the gods.

He wasn’t sure how to feel about that yet. He still had so many questions, some of which could only be answered by Temenos, but the inquisitor might not be in any fit state to answer them just yet. He didn’t look particularly well, all things considered, even with the medicine that Castti had given him. Hopefully he would recover his strength soon.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

Startled, Crick looked up and found two blue eyes watching him, a smile on their owner’s face. It was a familiar sight at this point, having been in the care of Dohter’s chosen apothecary (gods, that was going to take a lot of getting used to) for several days now. He watched as she reached over to the nightstand and grabbed a bottle from it before giving him her complete attention.

“Here, I’ve got your medicine ready,” she said. “Are you able to sit up on your own?”

“I...I believe so.” He knew that she would help him if he couldn’t, that this was more or less a test to see how well he was recovering, if he could move without hurting himself. He needed to be able to, because he was getting tired of staying in bed. Most of his wounds had been healed for the most part, but the deeper ones were still causing him a good deal of discomfort, and as powerful as magic was, it couldn’t replace the blood or stamina that he had lost. It also couldn’t heal everything. He would be coming out of this with more than a few scars, that was for sure, but to be perfectly honest, he didn’t really mind. He was simply grateful to be alive.

Almost dying had a tendency to put a lot of things into perspective.

In the end, he managed to sit up on his own, taking the bottle from Castti and downing it in a single go. It was bitter—most medicine was—and he found a glass of water being handed to him afterwards to help wash it down. She really was a thoughtful woman, and her pain-relieving concoctions truly worked wonders, chasing away the ache in his chest and the burn of wounds that were still mending. This particular one even seemed to help wake him up a bit, which was good because he didn’t exactly want to go back to sleep just yet. Clearly Castti didn’t want him to either.

“Dinner should be ready soon,” she said, taking his empty glass from him and setting it down on the nightstand. “I’ll bring some up for you. Both of you. That means you need to stay awake, Temenos.”

“Very well,” the inquisitor sighed, “although I highly doubt I could even sleep right now if I tried.”

The look on her face was equal parts longsuffering and amused at those almost petulant words, and the smile she gave Crick afterwards felt knowing, as if she were silently saying “you know how he is, I’m sure you’ve had to deal with this too.” He had, though not quite to this degree, but the feeling of solidarity had him returning her smile all the same.

With a fond shake of her head, she walked over to the door, and after stating that she would be back with dinner in a bit, she opened it and stepped out into the hall, closing it quietly behind her.

Leaving him alone with Temenos.

...This was what he had wanted. A moment to speak to the inquisitor without anyone else present, to say everything that had been on his mind since almost bleeding to death in Stormhail.

He wanted to talk about what happened, about that ancient shrine, the Book of Night, and Kaldena. He wanted to talk about Vados and Cubaryi, about the Keepers of the Flame and the Sacred Guard. He also wanted to properly thank Temenos for saving his life, to ask why he had even been there, how he and Throné had found him, as well as to apologize for going off on his own. He wanted to renew the vow he had made all those months ago, that oath to protect him—to get all of the emotions (the gratitude, the fear, the anxiety of what was to come next) off of his chest.

There were so many things that he wanted to say, so many things that he should say.

In the end, he didn’t say any of them.

Instead, what fell from his lips—the first proper thing that he said to him aside from a few groggy words exchanged at Stormhail’s inn was, “You were chosen by the Flamebringer.”

Clearly his mouth had a mind of its own, because that was not what he had wanted to say.

And to make matters worse, it sounded like an accusation.

Temenos, who was either too drained right now to display shock or too good at hiding it when something caught him off guard, barely reacted to the words at all. Instead he simply lay there, staring at the ceiling, his eyes blinking slowly as something very close to resignation settled upon his face.

Despite the state he was in, his mind was still sharp, adding up the pieces quickly and arriving at the correct conclusion.

“They told you then,” he said, his tone giving little away of what he was feeling.

“Yes.” And then because he felt like he should, because he didn’t want Temenos to be upset with his friends, he added, “Though it was kind of by accident.”

Whether it made any difference to the inquisitor or not, he didn’t know. Temenos was a hard man to read most of the time, and right now the task felt almost impossible. All he really looked was tired.

Even so, Crick wasn’t willing to let this go. Not yet. He needed to sort some things out.

There were still questions he wanted answered.

And his mouth once again betrayed him by asking the most self-serving one.

“How long have you known that you were chosen by Aelfric?”

It was not mere curiosity that pulled the words from him. It was something else that he didn’t want to give a name to. Something that was completely and utterly unfair.

And Temenos, who was so very good at reading between the lines, seeing what people didn’t want to be seen, breathed a quiet, weary sigh, and gave an answer that implied he knew exactly what Crick was really asking him.

“Since before I arrived in Canalbrine.”

...He had thought as much. The Clerics Guild, where the Altar of the Flamebringer resided, wasn’t far from Flamechurch, so it made sense (it made sense, he told himself)—and the knight, his suspicions now confirmed, tried very, very hard not to be frustrated about it. He had no right to be, after all. Temenos was a man who played his cards very close to his chest, who withheld information that he didn’t believe people should have or that they weren’t ready for yet. He did not give his trust easily. He was careful and calculating, and Crick just...wasn’t. So it made sense that, until this moment, he wouldn’t have said anything to him.

It made sense.

But that didn’t change the fact that he felt somewhat hurt by it—and Temenos, despite his obvious exhaustion, was quick to pick up on that.

“Are you upset that I didn’t tell you?”

“No,” Crick lied, very unconvincingly, even though he was trying really hard to not let it bother him. Again, he had no right to be upset. It was none of his business, and it had been even less so back then. Being “blessed” by a god wasn’t exactly the type of thing you told someone that you had only spent a week’s worth of time with, that you barely even knew. He was definitely being unreasonable.

(And yet for whatever reason, he could not help the way he felt).

The inquisitor breathed another sigh, a far deeper one this time, and kept his gaze fixed firmly on the ceiling.

“If I had told you while we were in Canalbrine,” he began slowly, softly, his words chosen carefully for a change, devoid of any humor, “what would you have done? Back then, you still trusted the Sacred Guard, trusted Kaldena. Would you have insisted on telling someone, believing that they could help protect me, protect us, as we attempted to carry out the gods’ will? What would you have done with that information, Crick?”

“I...”

It was a fair question, especially given how unfair he was being.

But unfortunately, he didn’t have an answer.

“I don’t know,” he replied, suddenly feeling at a bit of a loss. “It’s...hard to put myself in that position with the way things are now, but...”

...He might have insisted. Back then, there was a good chance that he would’ve insisted on telling the Sacred Guard, believing that they would act accordingly, that they would take Temenos’s word for what happened—that he had been blessed by Aelfric—and that they would protect him, just as they were meant to do. He would have had no reason to believe otherwise. In hindsight, however, he could definitely see either the captain or Cubaryi using that information to brand the inquisitor as a heretic, to condemn him instead of protect him, to execute him for having the audacity to claim that he represented the will of a god. Sharing that knowledge could have easily cost him his life had it fallen into the wrong hands, and Crick knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that if he had been the one responsible for such a thing, if a single one of his actions were to ever bring harm upon Temenos, he would never be able to forgive himself for it.

It was hard to know exactly how he would’ve reacted if Temenos had told him the truth back then, what actions he would’ve taken—if he even would’ve believed him in the first place, but...

“If you had told me to keep it a secret—if you had asked me to promise not to tell anyone, I would have.” Amidst a great deal of uncertainty, that was one thing, at least, that he could be certain of. “I may not always agree with you, Temenos, but I do respect you. I would not have gone around spreading information that you did not wish me to.”

He would have made that promise, and he would have kept it. A knight was only as good as their word, after all.

Those tired green eyes finally turned to him, and a small smile, one that almost seemed fond, spread across his lips.

“Thank you, Crick,” he said, the gratitude in his voice genuine (perhaps exhaustion really did make him more honest). “I hope you know that you have truly been a reliable companion to me, my dear Godsblade. I am most grateful.”

He could feel his face heating up, half flustered by the praise and half pleased.

“I...I plan on continuing to be so—if you will allow it, that is,” he replied, taking the opening that he had been given in order to get yet another thing off his chest. This was something that he had been thinking about for the past few days, something that needed to be said. “I want to travel with you, Temenos.”

He wanted to remain at the inquisitor’s side.

That soft smile faded, just a bit, as something careful and—much to Crick’s dismay—guarded settled in those weary eyes.

“Are you only saying that out of devotion to the gods?”

The question, truth be told (even though in hindsight he probably should’ve been expecting it) startled him, his eyes widening in surprise as he sucked in a sharp breath and just held it for a moment, turning the words over in his head. He wasn’t good at reading people, he never had been, and Temenos was impossible to figure out sometimes, but...this time, he was pretty sure he had a good idea of what was really being asked. So, just like the inquisitor had done with him earlier, he replied to his friend’s actual question.

“I would have asked to go with you even if your friends hadn’t told me about you being chosen,” he stated, firm and resolute, lacking even a hint of doubt because he wanted to get his point across. He wanted Temenos to understand. “This has nothing to do with the gods—it’s what I want to do. I meant what I said to you in Stormhail: you still have a Sanctum Knight at your side.”

He tried not to choke on the words, to keep his voice steady, fully aware that he was immeasurably fortunate to be able to say them at all, to be “still” here.

“You can rely on me, Temenos. I want to see this through. And besides, it’s not as if I have anywhere else to go. I could never just sit around idle while you risk your life chasing after Kaldena.”

“Oh?” The humor returned, as did some of the fondness, a hint of mischief glinting in his eyes. “Are you saying that if I tried to leave you behind, you would simply follow me?”

“I would.” Because even though he had said “if you will allow it” earlier, in truth Crcik had no intention of letting Temenos leave without him. He would follow from a distance if he had to, even against all medical advice if he wasn’t yet well enough to travel. No matter what, he would not be left behind this time. There was no longer anyone capable of ordering him away.

This was what he wanted.

A breath of laughter, soft and bright, spilled forth into the quiet room. The very sound of it warmed him, causing something to settle within his chest, resulting in a sense of calm and contentment that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

It was a very pleasant sound. He certainly wouldn’t mind hearing it more often.

And then Temenos, being Temenos, had to go and ruin it.

“You really are just like a lost little lamb, aren’t you,” he said, amusement coloring his tone. “As a shepherd to my flock, I suppose it would be remiss of me not to bring you along.”

Crick heaved a sigh as he relaxed against the headboard behind him, feeling both relieved at the sense of sudden normalcy and exasperated with the man who had become his unofficial charge.

“Still you insist on calling me a lamb...”

He didn’t hate the moniker, not really, but it was somewhat embarrassing.

“I happen to like lambs,” the inquisitor said, the words punctuated by a yawn as his eyes slipped shut. Castti had told him to stay awake, yet he seemed on the verge of falling asleep. “I have seen my fair share in Flamechurch, thanks to the many farms along the outskirts. They are...rather adorable, charming creatures, in my opinion...”

He was suddenly very grateful that Temenos had closed his eyes, because regardless of what the cleric had actually meant by that, Crick was pretty sure his face had turned crimson.

He tried to tell himself that it didn’t mean anything, that Temenos was just teasing or simply making an observation. Just because he thought “lambs” were adorable and charming, that did not mean he thought Crick was (he wouldn’t mind the latter, probably, but the former was just...not very becoming of a knight. Knights weren’t meant to be “adorable,” what a mortifying thought).

He tried to think of something to say, but once again his mouth was choosing to betray him, opening and closing without a sound as he struggled to come up with a retort or an admonishment or just a change in subject—anything would have done, really. However, as the words “adorable” and “charming” continued to flit around his head, he found himself at a total loss, his face feeling like it was on fire.

Which, naturally, meant that it was time for Castti to return with their dinner.

The apothecary took one look at the two of them and sighed.

“I guess I should’ve warned you both to behave after all,” she said, “although I doubt it would’ve done much good.”

With a (hopefully not too exasperated) shake of her head, she walked over to the nightstand, set down two bowls of what appeared to be a very hearty stew, and then directed the entirety of her attention towards the inquisitor.

“I told you no sleeping, Temenos. You need to eat something. Ochette said you didn’t have breakfast and that you barely ate anything at all for lunch.”

“Her opinion on what counts as a normal meal portion is hardly reliable.”

“Be that as it may,” she continued, choosing not to agree or disagree with that statement (which meant that it was likely true), “if you intend to keep practicing your new spell, then you’ll need to keep your stamina up—and that includes eating regular meals and getting a normal amount of sleep.”

“And yet you have currently ordered me not to sleep, even though I am quite tired.”

“Temenos...”

“Very well, my dear mother hen,” the cleric replied with one of the most fake put-upon sighs that Crick had ever heard, because clearly he wasn’t actually complaining—in fact, it seemed like he was enjoying the banter. “If it means that you will not try to keep me from my magical experimentation, then I suppose I shall abide by your rules. After all, I would very much prefer not to end up unconscious. It certainly wasn’t my intention to worry any of you.”

Castti’s expression softened at that final admission as she walked over to the table and grabbed one of the chairs, moving it next to the inquisitor’s bed.

“I suppose I can accept that as an apology,” she told him, taking one bowl of stew and handing it to Crick before taking the other and sitting down in front of Temenos. “Though I doubt this is the last time you’ll end up like this. Now, are you capable of sitting up on your own and holding this bowl, or do you need me to help you?”

“I...”

Those green eyes looked up at the apothecary, then at the ceiling, then briefly at Crick (and if he didn’t know any better, he would say there was a flicker of something very close to panic or perhaps even embarrassment in his gaze) before closing in what appeared to be a very unwilling acceptance.

“...I may need some assistance.”

Which was how Crick found himself eating a bowl of stew (it was delicious, by the way, he would have to make sure to give his compliments to Agnea the next time he saw her) while Castti spoon fed a rather sullen-looking Temenos. Needless to say, it was not a sight he had ever thought he would see.

The knight hid a smile behind his food.

Hopefully, in the days and months to come, he would get to see even more sides to the Sacred Flame’s rather unorthodox inquisitor—and also, hopefully, the panic that he had felt that afternoon upon seeing him slumped against Osvald’s back would become a thing of the past. He prayed that would be the case.

Unfortunately, that was probably one prayer that wasn’t going to be answered, because Temenos, for better or worse, was dead set on learning a spell that belonged to a god.

And no one was going to convince him otherwise.

A cleric, chosen by the Flamebringer...

(In some of the older stories, Aelfric had been a stubborn man too).

Chapter Text

“So, it turns out you were right.”

Those words, spoken by his dear assistant, were followed by the sound of a book being dropped on the table that he was currently seated at. Once again Temenos had found himself in the library with Osvald, looking through books that involved all manner of magical experiments in the hopes of finding ways to make the process of using the entirety of his spirit easier, but so far they weren’t having much luck. The inquisitor had tried his best to explain what he had done, the methods that he had used to cast Heavenly Shine, but while he was certainly gifted when it came to magic, he wasn’t as familiar with all the science and math behind it as a scholar was. Thankfully Osvald was sort of an expert (not just anyone could have discovered the One True Magic, after all), and so after a rather fruitful and lively discussion, they had returned to reading tomes, searching for any suggestions or theories that could be of use.

He needed a way to make the process of drawing on his magic faster in addition to not becoming incapacitated after using it. Those were the most important steps aside from gaining more control, but that would eventually come with practice. He would be sure to take every opportunity he could during their trip to Toto’haha. Right now, however, he could admit that the words in front of him were starting to blur, and so Throné’s timing could not have been more ideal. He could certainly use a break.

“I am often right,” he replied, which earned him an eyeroll from the thief, “though I’m curious as to what exactly you are referring to this time.”

In lieu of answering, she pushed the book that she had brought over in front of him and opened it to a page that had been bookmarked with a slip of paper.

On that page was a very familiar looking cup.

“It’s called the ‘Grail of Life,'” Throné said, which was enough to draw Osvald’s attention away from his current studies as well. “Guess you really did see it in a book before. Not surprising since I found it in one about magical and religious artifacts.”

“Ah, yes,” he replied, pulling the book closer to get a better look. “I do recall going through several tomes like this during one of my visits with the pontiff. We would occasionally travel to Montwise on business, and I would often spend my free time in the library.”

Those memories felt like a lifetime ago now. They were bittersweet in a sense, like all memories that involved a lost loved one were, but he still cherished them all the same. He always would.

“It says here,” the thief continued, pointing to a specific paragraph, “that it can be used to revive the dead. Just once though. While there’s no way to know for sure if that’s actually true, I think we should hold on to it. You never know when something like that might come in handy.”

The words were spoken lightly, but there was a heavy look to her gaze as she sat down next to him, those dark eyes filled with an understanding that he had grown accustomed to over the months but that never failed to make him question whether or not he was as good at hiding things as he thought. Perhaps she was just more perceptive than most, or perhaps she had simply gotten to know him and his mannerisms exceptionally well during their time together.

Or perhaps this time, at least, it was because she had been there with him when he had found Crick half frozen and covered in blood, sitting by the Sacred Guard’s headquarters out in the cold. If he hadn’t awoken in the middle of the night, if he hadn’t gotten the distinct feeling that something was wrong...

Truth be told, he didn’t care to think about it too much, how easily he could have lost another person that mattered to him, how the world seemed to constantly take and so rarely gave anything back. He thought that he had grown used to it, but he was starting to think that there simply was no “growing used to it,” that every loss would hurt just as much as the last. That was why he wanted to get stronger, to do more, to protect what mattered to him. He wanted to make sure that everyone he still had left made it out of this mess alive. He would accept nothing less.

He would do whatever it took to see this through.

“How fascinating,” said Osvald as he grabbed the book and slid it closer, his eyes quickly scanning the page. “Though I see there are limitations listed—it cannot reattach or regrow limbs, for example, nor can it revive someone who has long since passed—the book does claim that it can return life to someone so long as the body is intact. A shame there are so few details on how such an object was made, and unfortunately there is no way to experiment with it without potentially wasting it. We shouldn’t get our hopes up, but I see no harm in holding on to it just in case.”

“Wow, professor, that almost sounded optimistic,” said Throné playfully, earning her an unimpressed huff from the scholar. “Ochette was pretty happy when I told her what the ‘cup’ was actually for. Kind of makes up for the rest of our haul being below average, I suppose. Still, it would be nice to go on an actual treasure hunt for a change. You know, one with actual treasure.”

A reasonable request, in his opinion. He might be willing to second that notion.

“Perhaps once Ochette and I conclude our business in Toto’haha, we can take some time to explore a little,” he said. “There are supposed to be several old ruins on the island, and many ruins tend to contain what most would consider treasure. Surely we could spare a day or two to look around. By that point, I am certain that we will all deserve a break.”

The suggestion earned him a smile, those dark eyes glinting at the promise of potential treasure hunting, but they took on a more serious look as the topic shifted to the rather pressing matter at hand.

“We’ll be cutting it pretty close, won’t we,” the thief noted, the words not at all a question despite sounding like one. “Catching up with Kaldena and the Night of the Scarlet Moon. The way things are going, we might not even have a full day to spare between the two.”

“It cannot be helped, I’m afraid.” They had already had this discussion on their way to Montwise, figuring out how long it would take them to reach the New Delsta Harbor, how long it would take Kaldena, weighing the benefits of getting ahead of her versus remaining a few steps behind. In the end, they had come to the conclusion that it was better to follow her at a distance than to run the risk of her finding them on the road. Besides, they had been in no position to give chase upon leaving Stormhail, and truth be told, they still weren’t.

Castti might have cleared Crick for travel starting tomorrow, so long as he could prove to her that he was capable of moving around without becoming winded (and without pushing himself too hard in the process), but the knight was in no way “well,” and he certainly wasn’t well enough to fight. Light exercise was the only thing in his foreseeable future, with perhaps a few sparring sessions with Hikari if their apothecary was feeling particularly generous. Crick seemed like someone who both would and wouldn’t follow her rules, depending on the situation. He was definitely the type who tended to act before thinking, which both was and wasn’t an unfortunate habit. Again, however, it kind of depended on the situation.

There was no doubt in his mind that, if someone’s life was in danger, his loyal Godsblade wouldn’t hesitate to help, no matter what kind of state he was in. That was simply the type of person he was.

The storybook definition of a knight.

(Temenos would be lying if he said he didn’t like that about him).

“I would prefer to think that the timing is rather fortunate,” he continued, “provided that we can tackle both issues one at a time, mind you. If we cannot, well...I am certain we shall figure something out. We have always managed to make do with what we are given.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Throné replied. “It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve had to split up.”

That it wouldn’t, even though they often tried to avoid that kind of thing. The eight of them were at their strongest together, but sometimes they didn’t have much of a choice. Stormhail had been one of those situations, with three of them having business to take care of in the snowy city, and so for the sake of convenience, they had chosen to tackle everything at once. In hindsight, that might have been a mistake given just how dangerous their journeys had gotten, but they had all managed to make it out alive, so he was willing to set aside how foolish some of their choices had been. There was little point in dwelling on what could not be changed. Better to simply press forward instead.

“Indeed,” he agreed, “though I pray that won’t be necessary. The timing should work out in our favor, provided Kaldena and her entourage don’t take any detours. If we leave tomorrow as planned, we should arrive on Toto’haha at roughly the same time, which will be a few days before the Night of the Scarlet Moon.”

“That’s a pretty optimistic timeline.”

“I am simply trying to remain positive about our objectives. Seeing the both of you accomplish your goals makes me somewhat hopeful that the rest of us shall manage just as well.”

Subconsciously, or perhaps just automatically—a pure reaction to what he had said—Throné reached up at those words and brushed her fingers lightly across her neck.

Her very bare neck.

She had been doing that a lot lately. Not that he could blame her for it, really. The trials she had to overcome to gain her freedom had been many, and not a single one of them had been easy. There had been a good deal of darkness at the end, a city lost to time and ruin, people who wandered its streets like ghosts, empty and broken.

A place devoid of any light or kindness, touched only by death and decay and loss—that was Lostseed. It had been the type of place that made a person question the world, question how such a large kingdom could be forgotten, left to rot in the dark. Or perhaps that had been by design, the way it had slipped from people’s minds into the recesses of history, a mere shadow lurking behind the bustling city of New Delsta.

Such a thing wouldn’t surprise him. Because that was just the kind of twisted man that Claude had been.

That damnable man...treating people like toys, like pieces to a game where only he knew the rules, trapped in a perverse, thorn-ridden garden. Not anymore though. Throné had seen to that. No longer could he destroy innocent lives, have children raised solely for murder. He would never again taint the world with his depravity. That being said, the fact that such a man had even existed at all—someone untouched by the passing of time, possessing a magic the likes of which none of them had ever seen—did not bode well.

Were there others like him, watching the world from a distance while orchestrating such unthinkable horrors? What had even been his purpose for doing so—had he truly done it simply to die? To leave some sort of legacy, a mark upon the world?

It didn’t make sense. None of it did. But then, who could truly fathom the mind of one who had lived for centuries? If Claude had ever possessed a sense of morality at all, then surely it must have eroded away years ago, along with his kingdom.

Regardless, there was little point in thinking about it now. That nightmare was behind them, left in the past where it belonged, and Throné...

Temenos was immensely proud of Throné for what she had done, for not completely losing her head when the truth of her life was laid bare. She had put an end to Claude’s machinations, taken her freedom with her own two hands. It was no wonder that Aeber had chosen her to champion him, a woman who was deft and skilled and sharp, who knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to go after it but was also unbelievably kind.

In her own way, of course, but that was true for most people. It didn’t change the fact that he had grown quite fond of her during their travels.

He hoped that their friendship would be a long one.

Deciding that a change of topic was in order, Temenos grabbed one of the many books he had yet to look through—there was a sizable stack sitting on the table—and pushed it over to the former Blacksnake.

“Since you’re here, provided you weren’t in the middle of something,” he began, “perhaps you could help us look through these books? Another set of eyes could certainly prove useful.”

“You know I’m not exactly great with magic,” she said, yet despite her words she still picked up the book and flipped it open. “Not sure how much help I’ll be, but I suppose I could spare some time.”

“You have my thanks.”

Reading in the library amongst the company of friends... Even though it was for the sake of research, something that could easily become tedious for all but the most resolute of scholars, Temenos found himself smiling more often than not, especially whenever something of interest was discovered and a discussion broke out.

It really was nice, not having to tackle everything alone.

He could certainly think of less pleasant ways to spend an afternoon.

“Now remember, little lamb, you have only been given permission to ‘travel.’ That means that if we happen to be accosted by monsters or bandits while out on the road, you are not to participate unless your life is directly in danger.”

“I know, Temenos.”

“And while I shouldn’t need to, I feel that I must emphasize that it is your life we are referring to here, not ours. I know that you greatly value your knightly duties, but until you are fully recovered, you are to focus only on your own safety. You are not to risk yourself for us, is that understood?”

...He didn’t like it.

He really didn’t like it, but...

What other choice did he have?

“Yes,” Crick replied, doing his best not to sound too sullen about it. He knew this was for the best, that he was in no shape to be fighting the way he usually did. While Partitio and Hikari had been kind enough to find a new set of armor for him, he was not allowed to wear most of it yet, not until his strength and stamina returned. Castti was pretty hopeful that he would be fully recovered by the time they reached Toto’haha, provided that he behaved and didn’t push himself too hard with what little activity he had been permitted to do, and since he very much wanted to heal (and did not particularly want to incur her wrath), it would be better to simply agree and do as he was told.

And maybe also pray. He could certainly offer up a few prayers that their journey would be swift and free of trouble. It wouldn’t hurt, considering the circumstances.

“Good,” the inquisitor said with a nod, sounding rather satisfied with himself. It was a familiar tone by this point.

“You’re almost as bad as Castti,” said the amused, teasing voice of Throné as she suddenly appeared next to Temenos, startling Crick since he had neither seen nor heard her approach. That was something he was going to have to get used to, how silent and hidden she could be. This surely wouldn’t be the last time she would startle him. “I guess she isn’t the only mother hen around here.”

The look Temenos gave her was withering, even though there was no true irritation behind it. As someone who also had a penchant for teasing, that kind of made sense. Honestly, given what he had seen so far, the relationship between the two of them sort of felt like a pair of siblings, like a brother and sister who enjoyed verbally poking at each other purely for the sake of banter. It was...somewhat entertaining, actually, to see the inquisitor on the other end of a verbal prod for a change. Yesterday, he had gotten to hear him being lectured as well.

This odd group of people, when all together, seemed to be a very colorful bunch. Traveling with them was certain to be interesting if nothing else.

With a deep sigh, Temenos shook his head, apparently choosing not to comment on what Throné had said, and turned his attention to the road.

“Come, let us be off,” he told them. “It would seem that the others are done getting everything situated.”

That did in fact seem to be the case as Osvald and Partitio shouldered most of their supplies while Castti double-checked her satchel and Ochette, Hikari, and Agnea made a quick snack of some jerky before grabbing their things.

It was time to head out. The plan for the day was to at least make it out of the mountains and into the lower areas of the Crestlands. Supposedly there was a very nice spot to camp there.

When Crick had asked Temenos why they were choosing to camp instead of staying at the chapel that housed the Clerics Guild, he had stated that the little building was not capable of housing them all comfortably and that he did not exactly wish to be seen at the moment. The guild was also often visited by Sanctum Knights, and while Kaldena’s followers were likely few compared to those who were unaware of her intentions, the last thing they needed right now was to be spotted by the wrong people. It was better to lay low whenever they could. That was also the reason why Temenos refused to stop in Flamechurch, despite having been away from home for so long.

Though it wasn’t the only reason.

“I left Flamechurch in search of answers, Crick, and I have no intention of returning until my work is done. Besides, if I did return, even just for a moment, Mindt would no doubt bombard with me questions, especially since she has likely figured out by now that I lied to her about the reason I was leaving.”

“What? Why would you lie about it?”

“Because she is meddlesome. Had I told her the truth, she likely would have requested that I send her frequent updates about my progress, which is something I had neither the time nor the desire to do. It was better this way. Receiving just one letter from her was much more preferrable than a dozen.”

It really shouldn’t surprise him by now just how unconcerned Temenos was when it came to the more nitpicky things about his duties. As the inquisitor, he should be checking in with the church, or at the very least with the people that he worked closely with, but...

But there was no way to truly know who could be trusted right now, was there? They had no way of knowing just how far the corruption ran. It was better to be safe than sorry.

Crick was normally a pretty trusting person. He didn’t necessarily want to change that about himself, but he could also see that discretion was far safer, that sometimes it was better to doubt.

Temenos would be proud of him for that thought, surely.

As they made their way out of Montwise and down the cobbled path, Crick focused solely on walking, on putting one foot in front of the other, keeping his eyes on the road so that they wouldn’t drift to the snowy mountain pass in the distance. Truth be told, he didn’t remember too much of their trip after leaving Stormhail, having slipped in and out of consciousness through most of it—and that was fine with him, really, he didn’t care to remember, but he couldn’t deny that thinking about it was hard to avoid when the Winterlands were so close.

He needed a distraction. Starting a conversation would probably help.

And thankfully, Temenos had chosen to keep pace with him.

“So,” he began, deciding to go with the first thing that came to mind, “we’re heading to the New Delsta harbor and taking a ship to Toto’haha?”

“That is the plan,” the inquisitor replied.

“But what if there are currently no ships scheduled to make the journey?”

His question, which in hindsight was actually a legitimate concern (any delay in getting out to sea could put them days behind Kaldena), was met with a huff of laughter and a smile from none other than Partitio, who was walking just a few feet in front of them.

“There’s no need to worry ‘bout that,” he said brightly as he glanced back, his grin widening. “‘Cause we’ve got our own! The Grand Terry, purchased fair ‘n’ square from the Tropu’hopu shipyard. Just wait ‘till ya see her—won’t find a finer vessel in all of Solistia, I guarantee it!”

It took a moment for those words to fully register.

“You...have your own ship?” He was admittedly a little baffled at that revelation (and maybe rather impressed as well). It was extremely rare for an individual to own a ship. That was mostly reserved for large organizations and the insanely wealthy. Even most of your average nobles didn’t have their own, so it came as quite a shock to learn that this motley crew of adventurers somehow did. And yet it also made a lot of sense. It certainly explained how they had been able to travel to every corner of the two continents as quickly as they had, considering just how much water there was between them. Being able to set sail whenever they wanted, not having to wait for scheduled harbor stops or deal with other passengers had likely saved them a lot of time. It was also probably a good deal more peaceful that way as well.

Still, buying their own ship...

“Are you surprised?” asked Temenos, that familiar touch of amusement coloring his tone. “Our Partitio is quite the merchant. While it did cost us a hefty sum of leaves, purchasing a ship was indeed a worthwhile investment. Much of what we have accomplished would not have been possible without it.”

“Aw, shucks Temenos, I’m sure Terry would be mighty proud to hear you say so. She put her heart 'n' soul into that ship.”

“Would you tell me about it?” asked Crick, curious and more than willing to hear the story. He wanted to learn as much as he could about these people, about what they had done, what they had seen, who exactly they all were. He was going to be traveling with them for the foreseeable future, after all; he should take the time to get to know them properly.

Partitio had immediately struck him as a friendly, approachable person, and much like Agnea, his cheer was practically contagious. He probably wouldn’t mind being asked a few questions, and sure enough...

“Why I’d be happy to!” the merchant replied, dropping back a bit so that he didn’t have to keep craning his neck while speaking. “Now let’s see, the best place to start would probably be...”

And so Crick, while traveling through the more rugged parts of the Crestlands, got to learn all about their trip to Tropu’hopu, about Agnea’s experience at the floating theatre, about the young shipwright Terry, and about how Partitio had roped everyone into saving up money, selling off trinkets and anything else they happened to come across that they didn’t truly need. A few of them had even worked a couple of odd jobs in order to earn some extra leaves, and eventually they had managed to save up a full 100,000 in order to buy their ship.

And Terry had poured almost all of that 100,000 into making the ship sailable for them.

He was looking forward to seeing her, the Grand Terry.

This was surely going to be an interesting journey indeed.

A rather lively, talkative morning and afternoon were followed by a much quieter though no less amicable evening. Making camp was obviously a very routine, simple procedure for this lot. Crick wanted to help, he really did—he could probably carry firewood at the very least—but the moment they had chosen to stop for the night, Castti had pulled him aside to take a look at his wounds and change his bandages. There weren’t as many of them anymore, so it wasn’t a long process, but it was still long enough where, by the time she was finished with him, most of the chores had already been done.

...In a moment of restlessness (and maybe a bit of frustration), he had asked Castti the other day why the remainder of his wounds couldn’t simply be healed by magic, because he had always assumed that healing magic could fix all but the most grievous of injuries. Temenos was a very talented cleric, having saved him when he had been on death’s door, so in his mind it would’ve made far more sense to just have him finish the job so that Crick could return to being useful to everyone faster.

Apparently, however, that just wasn’t how it worked. Apparently, when it came to fatal wounds, magic could only heal so much, could only close a wound up to a certain point before the body simply stopped responding to it. Under normal circumstances, he would’ve died. If Temenos hadn’t been blessed by the Flamebringer, there was a very good chance that Crick would have died that night. The fact that he would be walking away from his near-death experience with nothing but a few scars and no lasting damage to his sword arm was nothing short of a miracle. The inquisitor had done what he could, which made sense then why the few times that Temenos had used magic on him while in Montwise, the improvements had been minor and there had been a tiny, frustrated furrow in his friend’s brow after each session.

It would seem that Crick had known even less about magic than he’d thought. His lack of aptitude for it probably didn’t help any.

As the knight moved slowly around the camp, he saw Agnea hanging a pot of water over the fire, Hikari and Partitio cutting up meat and vegetables, Throné and Ochette securing a perimeter, and Osvald was...nowhere to be seen, actually. Given his bear-like stature, the man was hard to miss, which led Crick to the conclusion that he must have gone off somewhere, though for what purpose he didn’t know. Maybe he had simply wanted some time alone; he did seem to be the least social out of the group.

Then, of course, there was Temenos, who unlike the rest of his friends was merely sitting off to the side on a fallen log, reading what looked to be some sort of journal. It seemed rather hastily bound, more like a stack of uneven papers held together by leather and string, and Crick, undeniably curious, found himself walking over and taking a seat next to the inquisitor.

“What is it that you’re reading, Temenos?”

“Hm? Just some notes that Osvald lent me,” he replied, flipping to a new page. “I’ll admit that I’m not as adept at mathematics as he is, but I can understand the basics of applying certain formulae to magic at the very least. He said it would help with my control when it comes to casting Heavenly Shine, which in turn should allow me to endure it better than I did the first time. Otherwise, my only other option would be to increase my stamina through more physical means, and physical labor has never really agreed with me, you see.”

That kind of explained a lot.

“Is that why you aren’t helping with the camp?”

Temenos glanced over at him, smiling at the touch of disapproval that he had clearly heard in that question, green eyes glinting impishly in the dim firelight.

“I happen to be a terrible cook,” he said, a hint of laughter in his voice. “It turns out that I am much better suited to cleaning up after a meal than helping to prepare one.”

Crick blinked at him in surprise.

“You can’t cook?” He hadn’t been expecting that, and truth be told, he wasn’t entirely sure why that fact surprised him as much as it did. Perhaps because he had just assumed that Temenos, as brilliant and self-sufficient as he was, would have at least some proficiency in most things. Apparently that wasn’t the case.

“Can you?” the cleric asked, his tone half teasing but also half curious.

“Yes,” he replied, because he was rather decent at it, all things considered, “though I am nowhere near as talented as Agnea.”

The dancer was an amazing cook for her age, which he had come to learn was because she had handled most of the cooking in her household. Doing it day in and day out was a good way to become exceptional at it.

“Few are, I fear.” There was pride there, less hidden than it often was, and he found himself marveling at the fondness that bled through. “She is truly one of a kind. That being said, however, I must admit that I am now quite curious about your own culinary expertise. Perhaps you shall have to cook for us once we are abroad the Grand Terry, where you would have access to a proper kitchen.”

Oh, gods...

“I-I don’t...”

Gods, that was a terrifying thought, even though he could admit that a part of him—a very small part, mind you—was kind of intrigued by the idea. He had never really cooked for anyone before, so maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to...

No, scratch that, the last thing he wanted was to make a fool of himself.

“I don’t know about that...”

The inquisitor gave a thoughtful hum before saying, “A shame, truly. Do give it some thought, will you? I am sure Agnea and Castti wouldn’t mind a break from cooking duty on occasion.”

With that said, he quite suddenly closed the journal in his hands before reaching down to a small satchel at his side and pulling out what looked to be a completely different journal.

“On an unrelated note,” he said, “here, I have something that you should read.”

“What is it?” he asked, taking the much more neatly bound but far more faded book from the inquisitor.

“It’s a journal I found in the Fellsun Ruins. It belonged to Kaldena.”

At the mention of that name, his blood ran cold. He couldn’t help it. Not only was that quite possibly the last thing he had expected to hear, but in the back of his mind, he could see her as she had been that night, ruthless and terrifying in the dark. In all honesty, she had always been somewhat intimidating, her position of power within he Sacred Guard only serving to exemplify that trait, but despite that fact, he had never really been afraid of her until just that moment, until she had stood before him, her blade encased in shadow, with the sole intention of cutting him down and smothering the truth.

...He didn’t want to think about it. He had spent enough time thinking about it already—and Temenos, clearly sensing where his thoughts had taken him, kindly chose not to call him on his panic and to instead distract him with information.

“She is the last of the Kal people, the Keepers of the Flame. That journal explains what happened to them and details the plan that was put into motion by her and Vados. While I could tell you all of its contents, I think it would be better if you read it yourself. The events that transpired certainly do not excuse any of her actions, but they do explain how she became the way she is and the goal she is trying to achieve.”

Crick took a deep breath and willed himself to calm down, to focus on what he now held in his hands. This was what he had wanted: answers, an explanation, a reason for why everything had happened, why the captain of the Sacred Guard had betrayed them all. Reading it would bring him one step closer to understanding, one step closer to being on equal ground with Temenos when it came to their investigation, to tracking down the truth. He wanted that. He wanted it a great deal.

Steeling himself, he carefully flipped it open.

And began to read.

“...Osvald, while I do not doubt that you were likely an exceptional professor, I’m afraid that I find myself questioning your methods with this particular endeavor.”

Osvald, the man in question, was currently in the process of propping up a scarecrow that he had no doubt “borrowed” (or to use another term, stole) from one of the surrounding farms, positioning it a specific distance away from the inquisitor. The field they were standing in was wide and open with nary a soul in sight, which was just as well, honestly, considering what they were about to do.

While it was true that the Crestlands were mostly known for their rolling, rocky hills and their beautiful trees that always bore the colors of fall, they were also home to many farms and orchards, the terrain becoming flat and grassy the closer one got to the Brightlands. As an added bonus to their current location, there were no monsters present. With the lack of any form of shelter to be had, they would be easy to spot and easier still to deal with, and while there were certainly some that did indeed seem mindless, most of them had at least some semblance of self-preservation.

That being said, the absence of any monsters was also one of the reasons that Osvald was currently forcing the wooden post of a scarecrow into the ground.

“Back when I was a student,” the scholar began, “we often used training targets not dissimilar to this during practical application exercises. It should work.”

“Be that as it may, you are already well aware that light magic does not affect nonliving things.”

“I am. Just as I’m certain you’re well aware that the spell you’re trying to master is not a targeted one. It spreads outward with you at its center, a theory that was proven during our trip to the graveyard. If my memory serves, which it often does, you are the one who said that having a physical target to focus on made it easier to concentrate.”

...Well.

“Point taken.” Best not to argue with himself, after all.

Honestly, he wasn’t entirely sure if he liked this new, mouthier version of Osvald. The man had always had a bit of bite to him, sure, but now it was coming out as more actual snark than annoyance. Perhaps it was simply because he enjoyed magical experimentation and the discussion of different theories, or perhaps it was...

Perhaps it was a sign that he really had warmed up to them all after so many months of traveling together and spending time in each other’s company. It was certainly a pleasant thought, though he did wish that some of the man’s newfound talkativeness didn’t keep coming at his expense. Perhaps this was some sort of payback for all the witty, sarcastic comments that he had made throughout the course of their journey. It wouldn’t surprise him, really. There was probably some sort of mathematical or scientific principle about reactions and causation and equality. Osvald was a man who lived in the realm of logic, after all.

Maybe he would question him on it later, just to see what he had to say, but for now, however—

“Are you really going to do this?”

Ah, there it was. Not even remotely surprised by the question (especially since Castti had already asked him that same one less than an hour ago), the inquisitor turned around and found a pair of dark eyes looking at him, illuminated by lantern light.

And unfortunately, much to his chagrin, those weren’t the only eyes watching him with their thinly veiled concern. Truth be told, he hadn’t really wanted an audience for this, but curiosity and concern were both powerful forces, and seeing as how he had been unable to find a legitimate reason to ban them all from following, he’d had little choice but to let most of them attend.

(Ochette had volunteered to remain behind this time and mind the camp with Mahina. They couldn’t exactly leave all of their stuff unattended, after all).

“Indeed I am, my dear assistant,” he replied, which only earned him a narrowing of her rather judgmental gaze. Probably due to how nonchalant his response had been.

“It could end up being just as bad as the last time,” Throné pointed out (it was not an unfounded concern). “What if you aren’t better by morning?”

“Then I suppose Osvald will simply have to carry me, seeing as how this was his idea and all.”

“It only took about eight hours for the numbness to wear off,” the scholar said as he made his way back over, sounding very matter-of-fact as he ran them both through his logic. “And so there’s no reason that it should take any longer than that for all future attempts, barring extenuating circumstances, of course, like exhaustion or injury. As such, practicing at night makes the most sense if we don’t want to risk being delayed during the day, and since we won’t be able to practice much at all once aboard the Grand Terry, it's important to take every opportunity available before reaching the harbor.”

...It was a sound argument, not to mention one that lined up with the inquisitor’s own desires for this endeavor. Trust a scholar to make even a somewhat reckless idea sound reasonable when laying out the facts.

Temenos was going to take back his earlier comment. He in fact did like this new, mouthier version of Osvald. He liked him very much. Throné, for her part, breathed a deep sigh, muttered something about “stubborn men” under her breath, and then looked up at him once more with her dark, slightly exasperated eyes.

“Well,” she began, and he immediately knew that whatever she had to say was going to be sardonic, “maybe if you’re unconscious, you’ll actually get a decent night’s sleep for a change.”

“...You just couldn’t resist, could you?” Honestly, these people...

“Nope. Someone has to take a few jabs at you. Your head might get too big otherwise.”

He breathed his own deep sigh and shook his not-actually-inflated head, although in reality he wasn’t at all bothered by her words. He rather enjoyed that part of her personality; it was one of the reasons they got along as well as they did. Both of them could give just as good as they got.

“Guess I’ll let you get on with it,” she said. “And don’t worry. We’ll make sure your ‘little lamb’ doesn’t fret too much.”

The inquisitor looked at her curiously, his gaze narrowing into what was almost a scowl, because even though the words were said innocently enough, it definitely felt like she was trying to imply something. However, before he could ask her what exactly she was getting at, the thief turned around and began to walk away, back to where the rest of their group was waiting, with Osvald following just a few steps behind.

That was rather unfair of her, but there was little point in letting it bother him right now. He was meant to be casting a spell, after all.

Taking a fortifying breath, the cleric turned around, directed his attention to the scarecrow that Osvald had borrowed (stolen) for him, and began drawing on his magic.

Over the past few days, ever since their jaunt through the graveyard, the only sort of practicing he had done when it came to Heavenly Shine was creating a type of mental state that he could tap into at will and then increasing the speed at which he could access all of his spirit. Becoming faster was a necessity. He needed to be able to cast it quickly, without requiring a significant amount of buildup, because magic users, unfortunately, were at their most vulnerable while casting. Decreasing the amount of time it took while not sacrificing any of his control or power was still the most important thing that he needed to work on, and he was fairly certain that he had gotten at least a little better at it by now. The notes that Osvald had lent him proved to be quite useful in that regard.

He could feel the air shifting around him as his magic rose to the surface, recalling the way it had felt the last time he had done this.

“Aelfric,” he began, closing his eyes as he prayed (this time, he would keep them closed—Osvald could tell him how well or poorly he had done with the shape of the spell later), and then without any further ado, he called, “unleash your fury!”

Just like before, every part of him felt as if it were aflame, and beyond the protection of his eyelids, he could see a bright, golden light enveloping the world around him. It was such an unbelievable feeling, the sense of power flowing through him, of weightlessness, of magic in his veins. It welled up and then burst forth in every direction, extending from him as it filled the air, and he tried to pay attention to the feel of it, to the way it grew, to how the light spread. He needed to control it. Controlling the flow of magic would put less strain on him, would allow him to eventually (hopefully) be able to do this without any sort of negative repercussions at all. That was also an extremely important thing he needed to work on, so as not to become a hindrance to his companions.

Practice made perfect, or so they said, and he was going to take every opportunity he possibly could. One way or another, he would master this.

But definitely not today.

Because as soon as the light faded, as soon as the residual feeling of magic in his veins bled away, he felt his knees buckling as his head began to swim, that feeling of numbness once again setting in.

And just like before, there were arms catching him before he could hit the ground. Two sets this time.

Throné and Hikari. They had certainly gotten there quickly, almost as if...

“Did you honestly start running the moment I was done?” he asked, undeniably amused despite the fact that his voice only seemed to sound strained and tired to his ears.

The arms around him shifted.

“Of course,” said his dear assistant. “We couldn’t have you falling on your pretty face, after all.”

He released a quiet huff, almost a laugh (she just couldn’t resist one final remark, could she), and knowing that he was in good hands, the cleric closed his eyes.

At least this time when he drifted off, it was by choice (even though he probably wouldn’t have remained awake for much longer), and in the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but wonder if Throné would be right about slipping into unconsciousness. He had a long road ahead of him, after all.

He could certainly use a good night’s sleep.

...Crick was starting to understand a few things when it came to Temenos.

He was also starting to understand a few things about himself.

Standing there in that field with most of his new companions, watching as the inquisitor began to glow with a soft light...

Watching as that light became blinding, growing and expanding, spreading outward into a dome of pure radiance, bright and golden and beautiful, Crick suddenly understood a great deal.

This was what it meant to be chosen by the gods. This was the type of power that might be necessary for carrying out their will. Something so breathtaking and incredible and terrifying...

Back when he had first met the inquisitor, he might’ve questioned Aelfric’s choice. As Temenos went about doubting and teasing and showing no hesitation when it came to things like breaking and entering, coercing information out of people, playing solely by his own rules, blaspheming the gods, he probably would’ve questioned it. Questioned why the Flamebringer, the one who carried the First Flame, would bless a man who seemed to care so little for the church and its doctrine.

Now, however, he could think of no one better. There was no one more suited for bringing the truth to light.

Because Temenos’s flippant attitude was nothing more than a mask. He feigned indifference because it benefited him, because it kept him safe. In reality, he cared a great deal, and not just about the ones close to him but about the innocent, everyday people who were just trying to live their lives, who had faith and belief in each new dawn. Clerics were meant to guide people, to help them, and while he often did it in a completely unorthodox way, Temenos did take his job seriously, the evidence of which was shining before him now.

Because for what other reason would he attempt to learn something like this? A desire to simply see if he could, to experiment, was not enough of a driving force to put oneself through what he no doubt would time and time again. There were other factors at play, other motivations, even if Temenos would likely downplay them if asked.

But Crick understood now. As he watched the light fade, watched Throné and Hikari rush forward to catch the inquisitor before he fell... As that familiar feeling of panic and fear took root in his chest and dug its thorns into his heart, he understood.

Temenos was willing to risk all of himself for the truth. It didn’t matter who stood in his way or what he had to face—and Crick, unaware of the lengths that he would go to at the time, had sworn an oath to keep him safe.

He had promised to keep him safe.

He certainly had his work cut out for him.

Chapter Text

Temenos, despite having rarely had the opportunity prior to setting out on his journey, rather enjoyed the act of sailing. There was just something very...peaceful about being out on the ocean, surrounded by an endless stretch of blue. Better yet, of course, was sailing aboard the Grand Terry, because aside from a few crew members that Partitio had hired to help maintain their beautiful ship, their little group had the entire spacious vessel all to themselves. Definitely a worthwhile investment. It was so much better than taking an overly crowded ferry.

What he wouldn’t give to simply sit out on the deck with a good book and spend his morning reading under the clear blue sky...

But alas, such a thing wasn’t meant to be. There was work to be done, or rather there was practicing he was expected to do, because Osvald wasn’t in the habit of allowing time to be wasted. And so any day where the weather was decent, Temenos was supposed to work on his “magical stamina,” so to speak. It’s not like he couldn’t cast any spells while they were out at sea, he just had to be careful not to let his friends get caught up in them was all, which meant no Heavenly Shine, unfortunately, but that was fine. There were plenty of other aspects for him to work on.

Even if he wasn’t the biggest fan of math.

“You are certain that this formula specifically will allow me to control the size?”

“Yes,” Osvald said, and it was a testament to just how much he had mellowed out when the word wasn’t accompanied by even the slightest hint of exasperation. The old professor in him was starting to come out more and more. “It took me a while to calculate it, but given the type of spell it is and the shape it takes, that one should be sufficient. If you can memorize and apply it while casting, then you shouldn’t have to worry so much about distance. You’ll be able to decide how far to extend it on your own.”

He rather liked the sound of that.

“It should also help with your overall control,” the man continued, “so that the dome doesn’t fracture as easily, but it’s important to still work on your stamina as well so that you won’t end up passing out afterwards. With enough practice, you might even be able to use it multiple times in one battle without putting too much strain on your body.”

“As impressive as that would be, I certainly hope that we never come across an enemy where such a thing would be necessary.” Because that was certainly a terrifying thought. He didn’t even want to entertain the idea of something being strong enough to live through a pure explosion of holy magic. Heavenly Shine was meant to be a sort of failsafe for him, a way to get them out of a tight spot or end a difficult battle quickly. That had been his intention anyway, the reason why he had wanted it as part of his magical arsenal. It wasn’t supposed to be used multiple times in a single battle.

With a deep and perhaps somewhat dramatic sigh, the inquisitor leaned back in his chair and turned his gaze to the sky above.

“Using Heavenly Shine more than once might actually kill me.”

This time the response he got from the scholar was indeed exasperated.

“You’re being dramatic,” he stated, which drew a smile to the cleric’s face, because that was absolutely the case (theatrics never failed to earn him a sigh from Osvald). “You can’t die from something like that so long as you’re healthy, and with Castti around, you should never need to worry about it.”

“True enough, I suppose. She is rather good at her job.” She had already stuck her nose into his eating and sleeping habits over the past several days since both were important when it came to maintaining his strength, and since the results had been undeniably favorable so far, he wasn’t going to complain. He had no right to, after all, given just how much trouble this endeavor had already caused her. And how much it would continue to cause her. For he had no doubt that he would end up in her care several more times yet, even with the regimen that Osvald had come up with. Speaking of which...

“Come, you should begin your training,” the scholar said. “There is no better time to practice channeling your spirit than in the morning, after a good night’s rest. You’ll likely end up using some of it throughout the day since our voyages are never one hundred percent peaceful, so if you want to get faster at calling upon all of it, then you should do so now.”

“I could always just grab a few plums from the storage room if needed.”

“No, you couldn’t. Apparently we’re running low, and Castti will no doubt scold us if we waste any supplies on this.”

“Very well...”

Though he heaved a sigh as he levered himself to his feet, in reality the inquisitor was trying very, very hard not to smile at those words. Osvald had said “us” and “we” that time, not “you,” meaning that he was willing to share in the blame if they were to invoke their apothecary’s ire. It was such a small bit of camaraderie, but he appreciated it all the same.

In truth, he appreciated everything that the scholar and the rest of his friends had done for him, and perhaps one day he would find the words to tell them that, to let them know just how much their support meant. For now, however, he had more important things to focus on than sentiment. There was training to be done, after all.

It was time to get to work.

Crick was looking forward to this.

He was really, really looking forward to this.

Honestly, he had been looking forward to it ever since the option was first presented to him, ever since it had been suggested as a way to help him get back into fighting shape once his wounds were no longer at risk of being strained or reopened. Just that morning Castti had removed the last of his stitches, had declared him well enough to swing a sword again, and almost as if having been summoned by her words, Hikari had immediately found him and asked if he would like to spar.

As if the answer could have been anything other than yes. The last couple of days had left him feeling restless, and while it was true that he had been enjoying what was easily the smoothest sailing of a ship that he had ever experienced, nothing could quite beat the thrill of getting to clash blades in a friendly sparring bout with someone of exceptional skill. Not only would it be a good workout, but he was sure to learn a lot. He had always been interested in Hinoeuman swordsmanship, and the swordsmen of Ku were said to be some of the best. He was grateful to have been given this opportunity.

After all, it wasn’t every day you got to spar with a future king.

“Are you ready?” Hikari asked, taking up a fighting stance with a wooden training sword in hand. The two of them were on the deck, surrounded by the fresh sea breeze, the gentle lapping of waves, and a clear blue sky. They couldn’t have asked for a more perfect day.

“Yes,” he replied, testing the weight of his own training sword (it was lighter than the ones used by the Sacred Guard, but it would serve him well all the same), and then because it was only polite, he added, “I look forward to training with you, Prince Hikari.”

“Please, just Hikari is fine. There is no need for formality among friends.”

...Friends, huh? While Crick didn’t really feel like he had earned that right yet, he got the feeling that trying to insist on being formal wouldn’t get him anywhere. The rest of the travelers certainly didn’t stand on ceremony, so there was probably little point in him trying to. It would be a hard habit to break, both as a former noble and a knight, but he would do his best. He very much wanted to get along with everyone.

“Very well, Hikari,” he said, forcing himself to get used to not using his title. “I shall try to keep that in mind.”

His words earned him a smile as the prince shifted his weight and further brandished his wooden blade.

“Now, come at me,” the warrior invited, because the point of this first session wasn’t so much an attempt to overpower each other but to figure out exactly where Crick was at with his recovery. Castti had given them both a rundown of what was and wasn’t allowed, making it very clear that the knight was not to push himself beyond his body’s current condition (which was why he still wasn’t allowed to wear his armor), and so Hikari had come up with the idea of letting Crick have the first few hits and then adjusting his own strength and speed as needed to ensure a decent amount of exercise without overdoing it.

Later, once he was fully recovered, the two of them could have a real sparring session, but for now this was more than enough, and he was sure to learn a great deal from it regardless.

Taking a deep breath to help him focus, Crick gripped his training sword tightly and moved forward.

In the end, it only took three strikes before Hikari began returning them in earnest. The force that met him was an equal one, but the way the prince moved was definitely unlike any other swordsman he had ever faced. While training to be a knight, he had sparred with a wide variety of different people, but for the most part their techniques had been relatively the same. They were more direct and straightforward, focusing on strength and defense, because knights were meant to be both a sword and a shield to whoever they were protecting. They could allow no openings, couldn’t risk baiting an enemy or letting there be too much time between strikes. They also had to hold their ground—dodging was meant for only the most intense of situations—because moving out of the way of a blow meant the potential of letting someone in their care receive it instead.

Of course, if one were simply fast enough, then such a concern wouldn’t be necessary. That being said, it was rather difficult to be “fast” while wearing a full suit of armor. For a knight, it was generally more important to be sturdy instead.

Or so he had thought, at least.

Because Kaldena, in addition to being unfathomably strong, had also been unbelievably quick. Despite wearing her normal armor and wielding her massive greatsword, something she generally only carried with her on missions, she had still been faster than him. He hadn’t been able to outmaneuver her at all. Strength and speed in equal measure, with the skill to back up her lofty rank. Ulterior motives aside, she had more than earned her position amongst the Sacred Guard.

If he wanted to have any chance of standing against her this time, then he needed to get better. At everything. He had been told more than once that he had no small talent when it came to swordplay, and so now he needed to prove it. Until they reached Toto’haha, he was going to train as often as his body (and Castti) would let him. He was going to do everything he could to earn the place he had been given amongst these travelers, whether he truly deserved it or not.

And right now, that meant absorbing as much information as he could while Hikari met him blow for blow, moving as if his weapon were an extension of his body rather than a tool to be wielded. It was a mix of precision and grace and power with not a single bit of excess movement, no wasted energy, each step and strike intentional and direct. He had clearly been doing this, swinging a sword, since he was very young, because those kinds of reactions could only come from consistent practice as well as taking part in real battles. Given what he knew about the nation of Ku, that made a lot of sense.

Just like with anything else, experience was the key to improvement. Hopefully training with such a gifted swordsman would be enough to help him progress.

About ten minutes into their bout, Hikari called for a break, because in addition to being exceptional at swordplay, he was apparently rather observant too. Then again, it probably didn’t take a genius to see that Crick was getting winded, much to his frustration. Growing tired after just a few minutes of training was a far cry from where he used to be. He could feel his wounds aching a bit, which was something he had been expecting, but he had thought it would take a little longer for the muscle fatigue to set in.

Castti had said that he should be fully recovered by the time they caught up with Kaldena. He was starting to wonder if that timeline wasn’t just a touch optimistic. He wanted to believe her though. If he kept at it and followed her instructions, perhaps everything would turn out alright.

One could hope, anyway.

“I’ve not had the opportunity to spar against many knights,” said Hikari after taking a drink from his canteen. “You fight with a balance of offense and defense, correct? Because you’re meant to prioritize protecting people over taking lives?”

He couldn’t help but smile a bit at that. It was a nice way to put it, even though he had come to learn that the Sacred Guard didn’t quite line up with that principle.

“For the most part, yes,” he replied, sitting down on the deck to catch his breath. “While Sanctum Knights do get called on to handle a great number of different tasks, our purpose is to protect the church and the people. That’s why I wanted to join the Sacred Guard.”

Even though it hadn’t turned out the way he had hoped. Still though, he found that he didn’t regret it. After all, he had left home to make a difference in the world, to do something good with his life, and that choice had led him to where he was now. He could scarcely imagine being anywhere else.

At the inquisitor’s side, he felt like he could make a difference, even though he was starting to feel like he hadn’t fully earned the right to stand there yet (to stand beside a man who was chosen by a god). He had told Temenos once, back in Flamechurch, that he wanted to join the Inquisition, and despite all of the ups and downs, that goal remained the same. Perhaps if he worked at it hard enough, he would one day find himself among their ranks. It was something for him to aim for at the very least.

“It’s a noble reason,” Hikari noted with an approving nod of his head, “one that is reflected in the way you swing your sword. Even while wounded, you are quite strong. It will be nice to have someone as familiar with the blade as I am to spar against.”

“I...thank you.” He wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to that, mostly because he didn’t know if he deserved such praise. If he hadn’t learned early on that Hikari didn’t care much for flattery, he would’ve assumed that the prince was just being nice. However, much like him, Hikari was a man of his word. He didn’t say things that he didn’t mean.

Which meant that the compliment was genuine.

“I feel much the same,” he said, because an honest sentiment deserved honesty in return. “I want to improve, to become stronger than I am, so that what happened in Stormhail does not happen again. I think that learning how to move faster would help. For example, the way you swing your blade, there’s no hesitation at all. Each strike flows into the next continuously without any wasted movement. I want to be able to fight like that.”

“It just takes practice, like most things do, though I was fortunate to have a good teacher who taught me that wielding a sword is more about technique than strength. He corrected many of my bad habits when it came to fighting. While the time I had with him was far too brief, I learned a great deal from him.”

...Crick wanted to ask. He wanted to, but he felt that he shouldn’t. It wasn’t his place. He wasn’t exactly good at reading people, but there was definitely a melancholy there that was better left untouched. It wasn’t right to pry into another’s pain, especially when he himself had never lost anyone close to him—not in the same way that Hikari had, at least. He had lost plenty of other things that were precious to him, sure, but never a person.

He prayed it would stay that way.

“I would be happy to show you some techniques if you’d like,” Hikari told him, directing the conversation away from sensitive topics and back towards the matter at hand. “That should allow you sufficient time to rest between sessions while technically still training. It should also be enough to satisfy Castti if she were to ask how we spent our time.”

The knight could feel a smile spreading across his face.

“Yes, please.” He liked the sound of that very much. Grabbing his wooden sword, Crick got back to his feet. The day had only just begun, and he was absolutely going to make the most of it. He would be sure to use whatever time he was given wisely.

Because no matter what, he was going to recover fully from his ordeal, and he was going to do so by the time they reached Toto’haha. He would stand and face Kaldena, would help Temenos put an end to the darkness hiding within the church. He would use the second chance he had been given to make himself useful to the inquisitor, to help bring the truth to light.

He would not falter this time.

With that goal firmly in mind, he returned to his training.

There was still plenty of work to be done.

Temenos was maybe—just maybe, mind you, because he generally tried not to doubt himself—starting to regret a few of his more recent decisions. Like insisting that he wanted to master Heavenly Shine before arriving in the Nameless Village. It turned out that giving oneself a time limit was a very good way to induce unneeded stress and to also guarantee that things would refuse to go the way that one wanted.

He was also starting to wonder if Osvald actually knew what he was doing when it came to this so called “practicing.”

It wasn’t even noon yet and Temenos was already spent.

“How is this so exhausting?” he asked after finally managing to catch his breath. Honestly, all he had been doing for the past half an hour was drawing on his spirit and channeling his magic, then allowing it to settle before repeating the process again. There was no spellcasting involved at all, but he had found himself growing short of breath the farther along he went.

It almost felt like he had run several laps around their ship or something, which was just ridiculous. It didn’t make any sense.

But Osvald, as always, was more than ready to provide an explanation.

“Because a person’s spirit and their stamina are intertwined, and while you have an abundance of the former, you are severely lacking in the latter.”

Coming from anyone else, he might’ve taken that as an insult, but he knew that the scholar was simply being blunt. Such was his nature, after all (and it’s not as if it wasn’t true).

“You could always ask Castti for a skybalm tincture if you’re feeling tired.”

Okay, that time there was definitely a bit of mockery in his dry tone, and in some ways it kind of felt like a challenge. Because Osvald was fully aware that going to Castti was quite possibly the last thing he wanted to do, for she would surely judge him with that critical eye of hers and then fuss unnecessarily. He wanted to be able to do this without the need of concoctions. How was he meant to get stronger if he simply supplemented his lost energy with medicine?

No, he would do this without her help. He just needed to take a break was all.

“There is no need for that,” he insisted. “I shall be fine after a bit of rest and some water.”

“If you insist.”

He did insist, and the inquisitor breathed a deep sigh of relief as he took a seat near some crates and allowed himself a moment’s rest. Who knew that the simple act of drawing on his magic over and over again could be so draining? If he were actually using it, then his exhaustion would make sense, but it turned out that just calling upon it and holding it, then allowing it to sink back into him required a considerable amount of concentration. If he were to lose focus, even just for a second, he would probably end up releasing some of it by accident, and that was the last thing he needed since without a proper spell to channel it into, there was no telling what form it would take.

If he and Osvald were the only ones out on the deck, then the loss of control would probably be fine—they both had a relatively high resistance to magical attacks—but the fact of the matter was that they weren’t the only ones on the deck, and so he needed to be careful with his not-actual-casting.

He could not risk injuring his companions; that would be rather counterproductive to what he was trying to achieve. His whole reason for doing this was to help keep them safe, after all. Because he could never allow what happened at Stormhail to happen again.

The inquisitor grabbed the canteen he had brought with him and took a rather large gulp, sighing in relief as he allowed the cold water to sooth him, to help chase away some of his more distressing thoughts. There was no place for them right now, not when he had a goal to achieve—not when the sun was shining and the air felt nice and he could see Crick swinging a wooden sword with Hikari on the other side of the deck.

Honestly, not even a full hour after getting his stitches removed and there he was, throwing himself wholeheartedly into his training. Such an eager little lamb he was, and rather impatient too. Not that Temenos had expected any less. It certainly didn’t help that Hikari had been looking forward to this as well, their resident prince never passing up an opportunity to spar with someone new, and so he had no doubt been lingering in the halls outside of their makeshift clinic, waiting for Castti’s verdict.

The inquisitor couldn’t help but smile at the thought. He had always believed that the two of them would get along. It was nice to see that he had been right. He very much wanted Crick to feel like he belonged here, traveling alongside the eight of them, even if he hadn’t been chosen by a god.

Perhaps he would settle for being chosen by Temenos instead. That was probably a rather blasphemous thought though, comparing himself to the gods; Crick would surely chastise him for it if he found out. Not that he particularly cared, of course. He had spent a good chunk of his life behaving in such a manner, courting doubt and cultivating cynicism, and yet for whatever reason, Aelfric had still decided to bless him anyway. The Flamebringer clearly had an ironic sense of humor, that he would pick someone like him as a champion. Temenos wasn’t complaining though. Not anymore, anyway. He had come to accept his lot in life, was perhaps even grateful for it to an extent, because he never would’ve ended up where he was otherwise.

He didn’t much care to imagine his life without the people who were currently in it.

...He should get back to practicing. They would be docking at Toto’haha in just a few days’ time, and so he needed to do as much as he could. They really were going to be cutting it close between catching up with Kaldena and the Night of the Scarlet Moon. Ochette’s teacher, Juvah, had only been able to give her an approximation of when it would be, based mostly on the moon’s positioning in the sky. They had looked into it a bit during their very first visit to Montwise, and while none of them were particularly well-versed in astronomy, they had managed to work out the most likely time that it would occur.

The next full moon would sit directly on the northern horizon, perfectly visible from Toto’haha’s shores. It would also coincide with what was known as a “solar eclipse,” a phenomenon that, while not exactly rare, only occurred in the same place every four hundred years. There was no way that could be a coincidence; it would absolutely happen then. The timeframe was indeed risky though, just like Throné had said, but he was still pretty sure they could manage it. Not having to split up would certainly be ideal. There was no telling what either calamity would force them to face, and so it would be better to remain together for both. They could keep each other safe that way.

He prayed that would be the case. He prayed that everything would turn out alright. The gods surely owed them a few favors by this point.

Crick would probably accuse him of blasphemy for that thought as well. Imagining it brought an amused smile to his face.

Feeling reenergized, the cleric set down his canteen and got to his feet. He should probably get back to it. If Osvald genuinely believed that this current method of training would help to improve his stamina as well as his casting time, then he would keep trying regardless of how tiring it got. He was the one who had asked for help with this, after all; he certainly didn’t want to be seen as ungrateful.

“Are you ready to continue?” the scholar asked, putting down the book he had been reading during their break.

“I believe so.” He certainly couldn’t let his wounded Godsblade show him up now, could he? If Crick could continue to train in the state he was in, then Temenos could as well. He would give this his all.

No matter how exhausting it might be.

What an incredibly productive day...

As Crick emerged from the stairwell and stepped out onto the deck, this time into the crisp night air rather than the warm morning sun, he found himself marveling at how a single day could feel both long and short at the same time. Perhaps that was simply what happened when you filled it with things to do—and things that had been rather enjoyable at that. After spending the majority of his day training (with regular breaks, of course), followed by a rather lavish meal, he felt considerably better than he had before, even if he also felt a little bit drained. The ache in his muscles was a familiar one though, a feeling that brought with it a sense of normalcy, and he was very much looking forward to what the next few days would bring. He really was on his way to recovering, to regaining the strength he had lost from almost being killed.

It made him hopeful that everything would turn out alright in the end. They did have the gods on their side, after all; surely that had to count for something.

A certain cleric would probably disagree with that—he had a tendency to disagree with a lot of things when it came to the gods—and speaking of blasphemous clerics...

With lantern in hand, Crick took a few more steps onto the deck and began to look around. It was getting pretty late, but he was on a mission. He was looking for Temenos, who had disappeared sometime after dinner. He had already tried the inquisitor’s room, the storage room, the study, all to no avail, and so he had resorted to asking the other travelers if they had seen him instead. It was Agnea who had said she caught sight of him heading up the stairs to the deck, and so that was where Crick had taken his search.

Unfortunately, it was rather dark out, even though the moon was hanging bright in the sky. At first glance, he couldn’t see anyone. There was no movement, no human-shaped figures standing anywhere on the quiet deck. Perhaps Temenos had already gone back inside? The knight moved across the wooden planks slowly, keeping his eyes peeled, his lantern raised, and eventually, after a few minutes of searching, his diligence paid off.

There, on the far side of the ship, sitting cross-legged and leaning back against a stack of wooden crates was Temenos. He would recognize that head of white hair anywhere.

“There you are,” Crick said with a relieved sigh. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Temenos. I wanted to... Temenos?”

There was no movement, no acknowledgement; the inquisitor was simply sitting there, as still and silent as could be.

“Temenos?” he tried again as concern began to tug at him, urging him closer, but his fear was quick to dissipate as he got a better look at the cleric.

Ah, he recognized that pose: one arm crossed over his chest, one hand cupping his chin. He had slipped into thought again, as he was often prone to do, so deeply that almost nothing could reach him within the confines of his mind. There was little point in trying to disturb him when he was like that, and it’s not as if Crick actually needed him for anything urgent right now. He had simply wanted to talk for a bit, that was all. He could wait.

Taking a seat across from the inquisitor, Crick leaned back against the ship’s railing, made himself comfortable and just...watched for a moment. He knew that it was considered rude to stare, but there was little else for him to look at right now, and while he could’ve directed his attention upwards to the stars instead, he found it difficult to pull his eyes away. In truth, he had always found Temenos’s presence to be somewhat distracting. His gaze had a habit of wandering to him, whether he wanted it to or not. Even throughout the morning and afternoon, he had caught himself stealing glances at the inquisitor while he practiced magic with Osvald, even though Crick had been in the middle of training himself. He was just hard to ignore for some reason, he always had been—even from the very first moment they met—and right now...

Right now, with the moonlight reflecting off his hair like silver and the lanternlight casting its own gentle glow across his face, he looked almost ethereal, like a cleric who truly had been blessed by the gods.

...It was merely a passing thought, just a mere flicker across his mind, but...in that moment, Crick found himself thinking that even if he were to see it every day for the rest of his life, he would never tire of the sight. That Temenos, with that quiet grace that was all his own, painted in hallowed light, was beautiful in his serenity.

He then immediately began to berate himself for thinking it.

Gods, what was wrong with him? Temenos was the inquisitor for heaven’s sake, a high-ranking member of the church that Crick had sworn his blade to, that he had promised to protect. That was not an appropriate thought for a knight to be having about their charge, unofficial or otherwise. He could feel his face heating up as he mercilessly pushed those thoughts away, telling himself that he needed to focus on the matter at hand, that he had come out here for a reason, and that getting distracted was not going to help him in the slightest.

He needed to calm down, collect himself, and then wait patiently for Temenos to come back from the depths of his mind, just like he always did.

(Just like he always would).

In the end, it took a while, longer than he would’ve liked, but when those green eyes finally opened, Crick had managed to get that flustered feeling under control. For the most part.

“Welcome back, Temenos.”

The cleric’s head immediately snapped up at the greeting, his eyes widening in surprise—a rather unexpected reaction, all things considered. It was a rare feat to catch him off guard, to see a glimpse behind that careful mask of unaffected indifference, but he definitely looked shocked to see Crick sitting in front of him right now. He really must have been lost in thought this time to have startled so easily.

The knight was torn between feeling somewhat proud that he had finally managed to surprise the unflappable inquisitor and guilty for having done so.

In the end, he decided to apologize.

“Sorry,” he said with a rueful smile, unable to keep himself from sounding a bit sheepish. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

A part of him was expecting Temenos to claim that he hadn’t been startled, to try and brush his reaction off entirely with some sort of swift, witty deflection, but instead his expression softened, amusement taking the place of his shock, and as he returned Crick’s smile with a wry one of his own, he shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

“That’s quite alright,” he replied, accepting the apology while also acknowledging the fact that the knight really had caught him off guard. “It is my own fault for not paying attention, after all. I simply didn’t expect that anyone would be looking for me at this hour.”

“What were you thinking about?” he asked, because usually when Temenos thought deeply about something, it was for the purpose of solving a problem.

“I was merely contemplating some of the information that Osvald gave me. The two of us have spent a lot of time lately discussing the finer points of magic, and I have come to learn that theorizing is just as important when attempting to master a new spell as the act of casting it is.”

“And you chose to do that out here?” He couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at that. Why not do so in his room instead? It was a lot safer there, not to mention quieter (though given Temenos’s incredible level of concentration, the amount of ambiance probably didn’t matter to him when it came to thinking).

“I rather enjoy the night air,” the inquisitor said, even as a slight shiver racked his slim frame. “It’s quite peaceful, though I suppose it is a bit chilly out tonight. Actually, do pardon the intrusion, but...”

The inquisitor quickly got up from his reclined position and walked the few feet over to where Crick was sitting before dropping down to the right of him, leaving just a few inches between. The grin that suddenly alighted upon the man’s face was a satisfied one.

“There, that’s better,” he said with a sigh. “Since you are taller than me, you block the cold breeze rather nicely.”

The knight couldn’t help but breathe his own sigh at that. It wasn't so much that he minded being used to block the wind, but if Temenos was cold, then he should just do the logical thing and return below deck. There was little point in remaining outside. He was tempted to tell him that, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Temenos always just did as he pleased regardless of Crick’s concerns.

So instead of chastising him, he simply went along with it, and with a somewhat fond roll of his eyes, he replied, “I aim to serve.”

He was rewarded with a breath of bright laughter from the cleric.

“Sarcasm, little lamb? I’m impressed. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Crick didn’t bother to deign that with a response since doing so would no doubt subject him to a bout of teasing. Instead, he simply allowed himself to relax against the railing, choosing to enjoy this mundane, peaceful moment, because even though it truly was a little on the cold side, the night air was pretty refreshing all the same.

He could hear Temenos shifting next to him, making himself more comfortable, and once he was satisfied, those green eyes shifted to the heavens, to the glowing moon hanging above.

“So, my dear Godsblade,” he began, “was there something you needed me for? I assume you came out here to look for me.”

He had. In truth, he had spent the last half an hour or so looking for him, but there was little point in telling him that. He had just been given an opening, and he would be a fool not to take it.

“I did,” he replied. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“I...well...” Perhaps he should’ve rehearsed this more, even though he had been repeating the words in his head several times over the past few days, trying to find the right way to explain himself, to say exactly what he wanted to say. To tell Temenos how grateful he was. He had planned to do so at several points already, because he had yet to properly thank the inquisitor for what he had done.

He needed to fix that.

“I realized that I never actually thanked you for saving me. I meant to back in Montwise, but...” He had unfortunately gotten distracted by the fact that Temenos and his friends had been chosen by the gods.

“You needn’t thank me, Crick. I am a cleric. Healing those who are injured is part of my job. It was solely by luck that I managed to find you that night.”

The words were soft, almost demure, and he could see Temenos pulling lightly at his sleeve as his gaze dropped from the heavens to the floor, his expression shifting into that hard-to-read mask he so often donned. Apparently he was choosing to be humble for a change, which was not the reaction that Crick had been expecting, nor was it the one he had wanted, and so even though he had just been told he didn’t need to, he pressed on with his gratitude anyway.

“Be that as it may, I still wish to thank you for what you did, so...thank you, Temenos. You saved my life. I don’t know how I can ever repay you for it, but I swear that I am going to do everything I can to be useful to you, and—”

“Stop.”

Crick immediately snapped his mouth shut, recognizing a command when he heard one, and with wide eyes, he looked over at the man sitting next to him.

Needless to say, he had not been expecting that.

Temenos, for the most part, was usually pretty soft spoken; rarely did he ever raise his voice. That was simply the way he was, a facet of his personality, someone who could let a lot of things slide and almost never took offense. Even while speaking to Vados in Canalbrine, the one who had murdered the pontiff, he had kept his tone even and calm the entire time as he laid out the heretic’s crimes, letting not a drop of anger show.

He would’ve had every right to be angry. Most would have been. But not Temenos. He just wasn’t like that.

So then why did he look so angry now?

Jaw clenched, eyes narrow, hands curled tightly into fists... That single word had been both a plea and a demand, filled with the full authority he possessed, and Crick found that he could do nothing but sit there silently in the wake of it, left to wonder what he had done wrong.

He didn’t have to wait long.

“Let me make something very clear to you, Crick.” A pause, a breath, followed by the irrefutable truth, spoken in a tone that was unwavering. “I did not save your life merely because you are ‘useful’ or for the purpose of placing you in my debt. Are you not the one who told me to stop worrying about such things when I kept trying to weigh your actions in that manner?”

He could feel heat crawling up his neck and onto his face, reviewing his words and realizing the hypocrisy of what he had said. Clearly he should’ve practiced more. He hadn’t meant for it to sound like that.

He wanted to apologize for his misstep, to take it back and try again (he knew that Temenos didn’t weigh people’s lives in terms of “use,” what a horrible thing to imply), but before he could, some of the irritation suddenly bled from the cleric as he leaned forward, his fingers unclenching with a quiet sigh.

And in a soft, painfully honest tone, he put most of Crick’s fears to rest.

“You needn’t earn a place by my side, Crick. You already have one. You claimed it for yourself back in Stormhail and again in Montwise, did you not? And in truth, you have had one since the day we met. If you hadn’t been so quickly reassigned after the pontiff’s funeral, I would have requested that you accompany me. I gladly would have taken you with me on my journey.”

The knight sucked in a sharp breath, genuinely surprised at the admission. He blinked at the inquisitor, his mouth opening and closing as he searched for something to say, only to settle on a quiet, breathless, “Really?”

“Yes.” No hesitation, no doubt, only the truth. “You were the first Sanctum Knight I had ever met who looked favorably upon the Inquisition, and when you chose to remain at my side despite disagreeing with my methods, even going so far as attempting to shield me from that Felvarg, I knew I would be able to trust you during my investigation. You were not the type of man who would run when things became difficult or look away from the truth...even though it nearly got you killed in the end.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” he said urgently, the words escaping him before he could even fully process the reason why he felt the need to say them. Instinctively (perhaps he really was getting better at reading this confusing man), he had picked up on a hint of guilt in that quiet tone. Prior to this, he had never considered the fact that Temenos might actually blame himself for what happened, that he would hold himself accountable for Crick’s almost death. In hindsight, he knew that if their positions had been reversed, he would have felt much the same, and it would have taken a great deal of reassurance to put his mind at ease.

The two of them had both been avoiding this conversation. That was a mistake. He should’ve brought this up days ago like he had originally intended, rather than trying to choose his words carefully and dragging his feet.

When had he ever needed to be careful when speaking with Temenos?

“I was the one who decided to investigate alone. That was foolish of me. I should have waited until morning like you suggested. I allowed my restlessness to get the better of me, and I promise it will not happen again.”

Those green eyes glanced up at him, curious and calculating, clearly weighing his words in order to come up with a response.

“Are you sure you should make that promise?” he eventually asked, his mouth curving upwards into a small smile even if it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You have proven to be rather hasty, Crick.”

“I know,” he replied, because he did, “but I intend to work on it. Patience is one trait that I wouldn’t mind picking up from you.”

“Now that was rather uncalled for. I’ll have you know that I have many admirable qualities.”

“...You certainly do.”

It took him a moment to realize what he had said.

Okay, so...maybe he did need to be careful when speaking to Temenos, because those three little words were met with a stunned silence and a pair of very wide eyes. He had meant them, they were the truth, but he had not meant to say them aloud, and he was suddenly very grateful for the late hour and the partial darkness that helped to hide his very red face from view. He could blame it on the glow of the lantern light, surely, if Temenos were to try and call him on his flustered state, but in the end, much to his surprise, the teasing never came.

Instead, the inquisitor cleared his throat and averted his gaze, offering a quiet, “Well, thank you,” that sounded perhaps just a tiny bit self-conscious. He then hesitantly added, “You do as well, I hope you know,” as if Crick somehow deserved a compliment in return.

Gods, he hadn’t meant to make things awkward. What was he supposed to do? He could just leave; he had more or less said what he had intended to, and so excusing himself wouldn’t be the worst decision he could make. He didn’t particularly want to leave things like this though—that was tantamount to running away. Besides, he would rather remain and continue talking to Temenos. He liked talking to the inquisitor, and there were still plenty of things left that he could say. And questions he wanted to ask. It was just a matter of breaking the uncomfortable silence that had settled between them. Fortunately, Temenos was rather good at that. While his skill with deflection was definitely aggravating at times, it wasn’t always such a bad thing.

“So,” the cleric began, schooling his expression and voice back into some semblance of normal, “how did your training go with Hikari today? I hope Castti wasn’t too upset with you.”

“Upset?” he questioned, confused. “Why would she have been upset?”

“Because the two of you were out here for as long as I was, which would be most of the morning and the entire afternoon.”

“It went well,” he replied, “and we took regular breaks. She wasn’t upset with us.” And because he was curious, he cautiously asked, “Was she upset with you?”

“And why would she be?”

“For the exact same reason you just gave me.”

Temenos smiled at that, clearly amused by the retort, before replying, “She was perhaps a little cross with me for almost forgetting to eat lunch, but nothing more than that. What I am currently doing in order to ‘train’ is not a detriment to my health directly, and so for the moment, at least, she has decided to leave me be. I have Osvald to thank for that. He has come up with several methods for improving my stamina and casting time that don’t involve me having to repeatedly cast Heavenly Shine, which means that hopefully, when we finally reach the Nameless Village, I should be able to use it without issue.”

Heavenly Shine. A spell that belonged to Aelfric and what was probably the most powerful light spell in existence. He could admit that it was incredible, that he had never witnessed magic like that before, but at the same time a somewhat...unsettling realization dawned as he processed the inquisitor’s words.

It shouldn’t bother him, the implications, and yet...

“Do you truly intend to use that spell against Kaldena?”

He couldn’t help it. He had to ask. Because a spell like that seemed excessive and almost cruel to use against a human being. It was surely enough to wipe someone completely from existence, so that not even their bones remained, and that just...didn’t sit right with him, for some reason. Even though Kaldena had cut him down without remorse, her actions cold and merciless and cruel, he couldn’t help but feel like this, condemning her to oblivion, was a little too much.

(Though perhaps he was just being naïve, to believe that this could end any other way).

Temenos didn’t say anything for a moment, his gaze once again dropping to the deck, but the set of his jaw and the look in his eyes made the knight wonder if he had already taken the time to consider this, had looked at the situation from every angle, weighing his options and discarding everything that had even the slightest potential for failure, that wouldn’t result in their success.

He had told Crick before, back in Stormhail, that he had no intention of killing those who were behind this; he only wanted to bring the truth to light. From the beginning, that had always been his goal: judgment and recompense over vengeance and death. Killing was not part of an inquisitor’s job.

It was Cubaryi and Kaldena who had forced his hand.

“...I would rather it not come to that,” Temenos replied, his voice soft, his tone repentant. “In truth, I would prefer to apprehend her rather than kill her. The dead cannot answer questions, after all, though I doubt she would be willing to tell me anything. She has made her intentions quite clear. If possible, I would like for this to end without further bloodshed, but...if she does not give me the option, then I will do what must be done. Too much has already been lost. I will suffer it no longer.”

Crick swallowed thickly, his throat suddenly feeling dry. He wasn’t used to this version of Temenos, even though he had gotten a small glimpse of it on the night that he was almost killed as the two of them had stood together in the snow. There was so much determination there, a desire to put this to an end, to see all of it through, and to lose absolutely nothing in the process. Temenos was already familiar with that pain, having lost both Roi and the pontiff to the darkness—people that he had considered family, who he had clearly loved dearly even if he wasn’t willing to say as much himself. His resolve in this was firm and unyielding, and he was willing to do whatever he had to in order to see it through.

If Crick had died at Stormhail, would he have become a part of that flame, that burning desire to bring this to an end? Another reason for Temenos to risk himself for the truth? Perhaps that was giving himself too much credit, but...it hurt, thinking about it. He never wanted to become someone’s regret.

He would be sure to do everything he could to remain alive while also fulfilling his vow.

And, since they were on the topic of Kaldena, there was one more thing he had wanted to talk about. They may as well do so now. While it wouldn’t be enough to steer things away from a painful topic, perhaps it would be enough to remove that troubled expression from the inquisitor’s face.

“I finished reading that journal you gave me.”

Temenos glanced at him from the corner of his eye.

“And?” he asked. “What are your thoughts on it?”

That was a complicated question, one that he hadn’t really had enough time to consider yet.

“I...I don’t really know what to think about it,” he replied. “Like you said, it certainly does explain a lot, but at the same time, it does not forgive any of the cap—Kaldena’s actions.”

Temenos gave him a nod of agreement before leaning a little farther back against the railing and tipping his head to look at the stars.

“The Fellsun Ruins were a horrific sight,” he said, his voice shifting back into that more conversational tone that Crick was used to, if not still tinged by that solemn resolution from earlier. Given the subject matter, it was to be expected. “What the Moonshade Order did to the Kal was reprehensible. They slaughtered an entire clan at the whims of their leader, because of something as meaningless as misplaced blame. Wishing to avenge such an atrocity is more than justified in my eyes, but in the pursuit of her vengeance, Kaldena would condemn the entire would. She has turned her back on everything, all for the sake of ‘justice’ for her people, yet there is very little justice in what she intends to do.”

“She wants to perform a ritual, right? One that calls forth ‘the night?’” The pontiff’s parting message carried so much more weight now. “Do you know what this ‘night’ is?”

“No, unfortunately,” he said with a disappointed sigh. “There was a mural in the ruins that told the story of the first time ‘night’ was called into the world, but there weren’t many details in regard to what exactly it is. I suppose it doesn’t matter much though. We will stop Kaldena and bring all of the Sacred Guard’s crimes to light. And, once the corruption has been properly weeded out, those who remain can rebuild it into the organization it was meant to be.”

...What?

He simply blinked at the inquisitor for a moment, once again finding himself shocked by the man before him. It really shouldn’t surprise him anymore, just how unpredictable Temenos could be.

“You intend to rebuild it?” he asked as something like hope flickered in his chest.

“Not me, personally—my position as inquisitor keeps me quite busy, after all—but surely there must be some amongst your flock who would be willing to put in the work. Or are you truly the only decent knight within the Order?”

“N-no, I...” The hope burned a little brighter. “There are definitely others who would see it restored, but...do you really believe that the church will...?”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. It will depend on those who are left, I suppose. While I doubt it will be granted the same autonomy it currently has, I see no reason why it should be disbanded completely. Both the church and the people are still going to need Sanctum Knights, after all.”

It was a fair point. Everything that Temenos had said made a considerable amount of sense, but it felt too good to be true, the idea that the Sacred Guard would be allowed to continue, that it could one day become what Crick had always wanted it to be. All of the knights who had joined for the right reasons, who had wanted to make a positive difference in the world, they could still have a place to call their own, something to uphold and believe in.

While he might have found his own answer elsewhere, a guiding flame that he was never going to lose sight of again, he was grateful for the hope that had been given, even if it was all just hypothetical in the end.

Feeling lighter than he had in a while, he said with as much gratitude as he possibly could, “Thank you, Temenos.”

“You needn’t thank me, Crick,” he replied, just like he had before, although this denial was thankfully accompanied by a smile. “I was merely stating my opinion on the matter. We will have to wait and see what the church decides once this investigation is brought to a close. I fear we still have much left to do yet before that happens.”

“Indeed, and please know that I intend to help you with all of it. I meant what I said before—I will see this through with you, Temenos.”

He was rewarded with an even softer smile as those green eyes slipped closed on a contented sigh.

“You have my thanks, little lamb. I could ask for no finer Godsblade to have at my side.”

Crick could feel a smile pulling at his own lips as well, to the point where his face almost hurt from the sheer force of it as something undeniably pleased alighted in his chest. Over the past week, he had been teetering between his belief that he was on the right path and feeling like he might not be able to do anything, that he wouldn’t be of any true help to the one he wanted to protect. He had also been uncertain about what was to come after, what his fate and the fate of his fellow knights would be once Kaldena was brought to justice. In a single night, Temenos had laid all of his fears to rest. There were not words to describe how grateful he was, how much that simple bit of speculation had settled him, especially since he knew that his friend held no love for the Sacred Guard.

He had said what he did for Crick’s sake. A small kindness, hidden within that flippant attitude he so casually wore. Far be it for him to be straightforward with his compassion, after all, even if he did let it slip through every now and then. Such an unconventional inquisitor, but one who was no less dedicated, no less caring than his predecessor had been. Pontiff Jörg had chosen them both well, and despite never getting the chance to meet the man in person, Crick would always be grateful to him for it.

This was where he wanted to be, perhaps forever. He would gladly follow Temenos for the rest of his—

The knight was suddenly pulled from his thoughts by the feeling of something bumping into him, a weight settling heavily against his right arm. Startled, he looked down to see what it was only to find a head of snow-white hair, still touched by the light of the moon, resting near his shoulder.

His mind went blank for a moment as it tried to register the situation.

Temenos was leaning against him, his eyes closed, lips parted, his chest rising and falling in deep, even breaths, and Crick found himself unable to do anything but stare, in pure disbelief. It hadn’t even been five minutes ago that the two of them were talking, but now...

Had he... Had he seriously fallen asleep? Just like that? How tired did a person have to be to... Why didn’t he say anything about...

As gratitude quickly turned to frustration (and mild concern), he reached over and placed a hand on the inquisitor’s shoulder before shaking him gently.

“Temenos, wake up. If you were tried, then you should have said something—we could have spoken tomorrow instead.” Because he would never put his own peace of mind above the wellbeing of a friend.

He received no answer, so he shook the cleric a little harder.

“Temenos, you need to return to your room. You cannot sleep out here, you’ll catch a chill. Temenos.”

Two green eyes sleepily blinked open, glazed over with obvious exhaustion, and the knight didn’t understand how he could have missed it—clearly there had to have been signs—because fatigue like that did not just come up out of the blue. It must have been there the entire time, lingering beneath the surface, and he just hadn’t been paying enough attention to notice. A clear failure on his part.

“Oh, I...my apologies, Crick,” said Temenos as he came back to himself slowly, though he didn’t bother to move from his spot, his words punctuated by a deep yawn. “It was not my intention to... I only allowed my focus to slip for a moment, but...it would seem that was enough for my exhaustion to get the better of me.”

Honestly, this man was immensely frustrating sometimes. Forcing himself to remain awake when he could have just gone to bed...

“If you were that tired, then you should have returned to your room after dinner,” he scolded. “Why come out here at all?”

“To think.”

“You could have done that in your room.”

“But then I might have fallen asleep.”

He really was starting to wonder if Temenos actually did have an aversion to sleeping. Perhaps he would ask someone about it later.

Clearly not getting anywhere with the dazed cleric, he switched tactics.

“Why didn’t you just tell me that you were tired?”

“Because you wanted to talk, and I...” Another yawn. “...Would much rather speak to you than sleep.”

...Alright, no more questions. He wasn’t sure if he wanted answers anymore. Temenos was obviously a lot more open when he was on the verge of sleep, and it wouldn’t be fair of Crick to keep interrogating him (because gods, that’s what he was doing, wasn’t it?) when what he clearly needed was to go to bed.

Changing tactics once again, he took a deep breath and carefully released the cleric’s shoulder.

“It’s getting late,” he stated. “We should return below deck and retire for the night. Will you be able to walk back on your own?” While Castti would surely scold him for it if she saw, Crick was willing to carry the inquisitor if the answer was no.

“I should be able to manage,” he replied, though he didn’t really sound any more awake than before as he shifted away from the knight and proceeded to get his feet under him. “While I wouldn’t object to being carried, we would no doubt be subjected to a great deal of teasing were anyone to see. I also believe that Castti would have something to say about it, seeing as how you are not yet healed, and I would much rather remain on her good side for the time being.”

...He was going to ignore that. Most of it, anyway. Especially the part about being carried—sometimes it felt like Temenos could read his mind, and he didn’t particularly like that notion. Quite a lot had crossed it lately that he didn’t want the inquisitor to know.

Best to just ignore it all and move on.

With a little bit of effort (he had been sitting for quite a while now and his legs were feeling a bit stiff), Crick got to his feet and then offered a hand to the lethargic cleric who had yet to rise at all.

Temenos swayed rather precariously when he was up, causing Crick to tighten his hold out of worry, but once his friend began to pull away, the knight let him go and simply followed close behind instead.

Thankfully, they made it down the stairs without issue, and then it was just a short walk down the hall to their rooms.

Temenos paused at the door, looking up at him with a small, sleepy smile and eyes that were half lidded, causing something to twist rather tightly in his chest (and that thought from before, as he had watched the moonlight cast its glow over the cleric, began to push at the edges of his mind. He did his best to shove it down).

“Goodnight, Crick.” The words were soft and warm, just like the firelight from the hallway’s lanterns playing across his face. Just like the light of the Sacred Flame.

It took a moment for the knight to find his voice.

“Goodnight, Temenos.”

That smile turned just a touch brighter, a touch more genuine, before he opened the door to his room and disappeared, closing it quietly behind him.

Crick simply stood there for a long moment and stared at the closed door, finding himself unable to move. His head, and perhaps his heart, suddenly felt too full. He didn’t understand why.

Not knowing quite what to do with himself and unwilling to wander the halls aimlessly (like a lost little lamb), he decided to do as he had originally said he would and retire for the night. It was still a little early to be going to bed, but that was alright. He was about to have several long days ahead of him in order to get back in shape before they confronted Kaldena. He didn’t have time to focus on anything else. A good night’s sleep would help to clear his head.

Surely things would make more sense in the morning.

(A man could hope, anyway).

Chapter Text

The Nameless Village. A village that, at some point in time, truly had been “nameless” according to Ochette. Apparently the beastlings who had settled there long ago simply hadn’t seen fit to give it one, and since they received so few visitors due to how dangerous the surrounding wildlife was, there hadn’t been much of a need for one either. However, after being referred to as “the nameless village” for so long, eventually it stopped being a way to merely describe Toto’haha’s northern-most settlement and became the widely accepted title for it instead. Refer to something with a description or moniker long enough and one day it might stick. Such was the case with the Nameless Village. Even the beastling who had greeted them with a friendly smile at the entrance had referred to her home as such.

They had definitely come to the right place, and after taking a bit of time to look around and ask a few questions, it hadn’t been long before they had figured out where they needed to go. While most beastlings had a limited grasp on human language, which sometimes made communicating difficult, they were not in the habit of keeping secrets or hiding things; they were in fact honest through and through. So, when Temenos had asked them about a “rifted rock” and the “Wandering Wood,” they had been more than happy to point him in the right direction.

Unfortunately that “right direction” had proven to be rather problematic, resulting in all nine of them getting lost in the woods for a spell. Not even Ochette with her exceptional sense of smell had been able to find a way through. Thankfully they hadn’t wasted too much time before deciding to backtrack to the village, and after taking a moment to think about it and flipping through Kaldena’s journal for any clues, he had come to the conclusion that they needed a guide.

Fortunately, it didn’t take him long to find one, and as they made their way through the forest for a second time, the trip was significantly less aggravating.

While their group of ten trudged through the foliage carefully (it would not do to take the wrong path again and end up lost), Temenos began to wonder if it was even possible for an outsider to make the journey on their own, if some kind of spell or curse had been placed over the forest to prevent people from finding the place where “night” had come to rest. That would also mean, however, that someone had guided Kaldena and her entourage as well, despite what her intentions were. Perhaps she hadn’t disclosed her reasons, or perhaps she had lied. Or perhaps she just wasn’t asked about it at all. Shirlutto, their beastling guide, certainly hadn’t asked any of them why they wanted to make it to the rifted rock; he had simply offered to guide them and nothing more. It made him curious to say the least. Did the beastlings just not care why someone would seek the power of night, or did they believe that even if someone made it to the place where the darkness was sealed, nothing would ever come of it?

Did they build their village here because this was where the night resided, or was it merely a coincidence? It felt too intentional to be a coincidence. Perhaps he would look into it later if given the chance.

Eventually, the trees gave way to ruins, the remains of what must have been a vast city at one point, lost to the passage of time. He could see several of his companions looking around, some in awe, some in interest (like Osvald and Throné, though for two very different reasons, since ruins were home to forgotten knowledge and treasure both), and then some in obvious wariness like the knight currently glued to his side. However, there was indeed fascination there as well, hidden behind his concern, because this was Crick’s first time visiting the island at the edge of the world. On their way to the village, he had marveled at the long stretches of golden sand, the clear blue water, the palm trees that towered so high above. It was a shame that they didn’t have time to properly look around, being on such a tight schedule and all. Perhaps once everything was over, they could spare a moment or two to sightsee and enjoy the view, but for now he needed to focus on the matter at hand.

After all, there would be no sights left to enjoy if Kaldena got her way, and the Night of the Scarlet Moon was fast approaching as well. He could entertain thoughts of leisure later, once the island was no longer in danger. The nine of them had a lot left to do yet before that would be the case.

“We here.”

Temenos looked up at the sound of Shirlutto’s voice, to where their guide stood at the top of a stairway that led to a huge rockface. Within that rockface was a large hole where the path they had been walking clearly continued deeper, shrouded in darkness. A “rifted rock” indeed.

“So this is the place the notes mentioned,” he said, looking around the entrance, trying to see if he could find any signs to indicate that others had been through recently. There was always the chance that Kaldena and her knights had gotten lost in the woods as well, though it wasn’t likely seeing as how he had only figured out how to proceed with the help of her journal. The odds were good that she was already inside.

“Long time,” began Shirlutto. “This cave. We protecting. Long ago... Very long...”

Temenos, curious at the sudden weariness in the words, turned towards their guide as the beastling bowed his head. What the man said next, however, quickly drew every drop of his interest, and not just his either.

“Archmage D’arqest.”

To the right of him, he saw Osvald turn towards their guide as well. It was true that the scholar was already well aware of the role that the archmage had played in Temenos’s own journey, the story that had been told within the Fellsun Ruins, because as someone who had dedicated his life to researching the seventh source and the One True Magic, any information about the man was considered valuable. Perhaps Shirlutto would be able to shed some more light on their current mystery.

Only one way to find out.

“D’arqest, you said,” the cleric began, “the one who tried to call forth the night with an unholy ritual.”

A small, and dare he say almost approving smile graced the beastling’s face.

“You smart,” he said with a nod, only to immediately follow it up with, “but wrong. D’arqest calling. Not night. Calling Shadow.”

...What?

It was amazing, in a sense, how one word could suddenly change everything. If any of them hadn’t been paying attention before, they were certainly paying attention now. Temenos could feel eyes on him as his own widened in surprise, as a connection was made, as Osvald took a step closer and gave his undivided attention to the matter at hand. The inquisitor crossed his arms over his chest, his mind whirling—what he wouldn’t give to be able to just fall away into thought and sort it all out—but there wasn’t time to think right now. There were questions to be answered. He wanted to understand.

“So the power of ‘night’ referred to in the Kal Ruins was actually the Shadow,” he said, earning him a nod from Shirlutto who continued the story, recalling the events that had clearly been passed down within the village.

“Archmage called. Shadow came. Then humans... Humans fighting. Shadow swirling. Humans greedy. D’arqest cursing.”

He placed a hand upon his chest.

“Humans changing. Half-human. Half-beast.”

It took a moment for the pieces to line up, and judging by the few surprised gasps, he wasn’t the only one who had realized just what Shirlutto was saying.

In truth, little was known about the beastlings. One of the few books ever written about them had been viewed as nothing more than a work of fiction for a very long time. Most humans had never even seen one before, and many of those who had probably hadn’t realized it, assuming that their appearance was simply a costume like so many had with Ochette. As such, their origins were a complete mystery.

But not anymore.

D'arqest had created them. They were a species born from magic, from a curse. A mixture of human and beast.

“So that is how your kind came to be.” He would have to look into this further once he had the time. “Were you aware of this, Ochette?”

He looked down at the young beastling who had made her way to his side, watching as she shook her head with wide eyes.

“Nuh-uh,” she said. “Master Juvah never said anything. I’m guessing he probably didn’t know. I don’t think anyone in the village knows.”

“Old tale,” Shirlutto said. “Very old. Passed down. Only some. Long ago. Since then. We watching. Watching here.”

He turned to look at the opening, the rift in the rock, peering into the darkness.

“...Deep within. Shadow coming.”

That did not bode well.

“Trial passing. You going.”

“Do you not question why?” he asked, unable to help himself, driven by that curiosity to find answers, to know. “Why someone would seek the Shadow?”

The beastling shook his head.

“We guiding,” he replied. “Nothing more. Before you. Another passing.”

Another...

“Kaldena... Of course.” So she and her knights really had made their way inside already. They couldn’t afford to tarry at the entrance for much longer.

With a smile that was perhaps a bit more forced than usual (he found it rather difficult to pull off his unaffected mask when there was so much information floating around his head), he bid their guide farewell and turned towards the cavern before them and the darkness lurking beyond.

But before they all walked into the unknown, there was something that had to be said.

Temenos glanced up at the scholar standing next to him only to find an equally inquisitive gaze peering back.

“Osvald.”

“I know,” he responded, answering the unasked question, because of course he was already aware of what the inquisitor had wanted to say. “It would seem that we’ve found a connection. The power that Harvey tried to wield, what he claimed to be the One True Magic, was the Shadow—the same power that Kaldena is now after. I know that Harvey had accomplices from going through his notes. Might they have known each other, or is it merely a coincidence? Perhaps there is some outside factor we have yet to encounter...”

An outside factor? Now that was a rather foreboding thought. Then again, he knew of at least one force operating beyond their sight, something that he would definitely be investigating once all of their current matters were put to rest. After all, the leader of the Moonshade Order was still out there, still unaccounted for, the one who was responsible for so much senseless death, who had taught their followers verses from the Book of Night.

Whoever they were, they had a lot to answer for.

“Come on, we should get moving,” said Throné, urging them along. “The two of you can figure this out later. We have a dark ritual to stop, right?”

“That we do,” he replied. “I just pray we are not too late.” There was no telling how far Kaldena had gotten ahead of them while they had been lost in the woods (so much for hoping that she might’ve gotten lost as well). They needed to press forward. It was time to bring this case to a close.

Grabbing one of their lanterns (because they were definitely going to need it), Temenos led the way forward into the rifted rock, lighting the path before them as they stepped into the dark.

And once again he found that a certain little lamb was glued to his side.

It was so tempting to say something. It would be so easy to tease him about the proximity, to ask if he was nervous, scared, maybe even offer to hold his hand (which would earn him a good deal of indignation and a very endearing blush). Poking fun at his dear Godsblade never failed to lighten his mood, because his reactions really were so very amusing, but at the same time he had resolved himself to be a bit kinder to him, to not take his presence for granted.

He also knew that it was not for Crick’s own safety that the knight was choosing to remain so close.

Let it be known that Temenos did not “need” to be protected; he was perfectly capable of looking after himself. That being said, it would be remiss of him to pretend that Crick hadn’t saved his life before, that he could have fought off a Felvarg by himself or taken on an assassin (who he now knew to have been Kaldena) in the Sacred Guard’s cemetery. He very well could have been killed if not for Crick. And so, at least for the time being, anyway, he would allow the younger man his worry, his protecting, his knightly devotion. It wasn’t suffocating or anything, nor was it a bother, and so there was no point in calling him on it and possibly losing that reassuring presence at his side.

Never let it be said that the inquisitor didn’t know how to be considerate. He could definitely hold his tongue and keep his witty remarks to himself.

...When it suited him, of course.

Crick had been in caves before. He had also been in ancient ruins before. During his training, he had been forced to deal with a wide variety of dangerous situations in order to prove that he had what it took to become a Sanctum Knight. And for the most part, regardless of how daunting some of those challenges had been, he had done so without a single complaint. Because of that, he very much wanted to believe that he was a brave person by nature, willing to walk into the unknown. He had done so several times already.

But the darkness that blanketed the cave, that coated the walls in shadow, was unlike anything he had ever seen. It writhed and twisted, almost like a living thing, making it difficult to see too far ahead even with the sconces lit and a lantern to guide the way. Their group of nine was forced to move slowly, to be wary of loose rocks and crumbling stairs, though in truth the path was a lot more well kept than he had expected. Perhaps some of the beastlings had chosen to maintain it, or perhaps there was magic at work, preserving the place where the Shadow slept. That wouldn’t surprise him, really.

Was this the kind of thing that Temenos and his friends dealt with on a regular basis? They had traveled all across Solistia, traversed caves and ancient cities and ruins. They had fought against people and creatures the likes of which few would even believe. There had been a man who claimed to have lived for centuries, a professor whose envy and lust for power had led to him committing unspeakable sins...

There was an apothecary who had slaughtered an entire village with poisonous rain, a monarch who would see the world bow before him, a calamity that occurred every four hundred years—just a massive slew of things to accomplish, ambitions to reach, and wrongs to make right.

The eight of them were rather incredible, and he truly did feel fortunate to be joining them on their journey.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t anxious. He kept one hand on the hilt of his sword as he walked, just in case something decided to jump out at them. Monsters tended to make their homes in places like this.

In the end, however, it turned out to be the very ground beneath their feet that was the most treacherous.

A startled “Ack!” suddenly shattered the silence, causing all of them to stop and turn to see what had happened. That shriek had definitely come from Agnea (for such a graceful dancer, she certainly had her clumsy moments), who apparently must have lost her footing while walking up the stairs. Thankfully she had been walking next to Hikari, the prince having caught her before she could tumble fully to the ground. Hopefully she was okay. Even a slight misstep could result in a twisted ankle.

“Are you alright, Agnea?” Hikari asked.

“Yes, sorry,” she replied with a sheepish smile. “I just wasn’t paying attention to where I was stepping. It’s really dark in here, and there’s a lot of loose rocks. I’ll try harder to watch where I’m going, promise.”

“Maybe we should light a few more lanterns,” Castti suggested, already digging through her bag. “Although...there’s something very unnatural about this darkness.”

“I’ll say,” agreed Ochette. “Even I’m having a hard time seeing through it.”

That was rather concerning, considering just how sharp her senses were.

“Do ya think that means the ritual’s already started?” asked Partitio, his brow furrowing in concern.

“It’s possible,” replied Osvald. “This darkness is similar to what we encountered in Gravell. Something else that I find equally concerning is that we have yet to run into any opposition, even though Kaldena was supposed to have arrived with an entire contingent of knights. It would have made sense to leave some near the entrance to prevent anyone from following, and so logically we should assume that she in fact did, but...”

“But there’s no one around,” Throné concluded. “I can’t feel any eyes watching us, no one looking to ambush us in the dark. Something must have happened to them, and I hate being the one to have to suggest this, but don’t a lot of ‘dark rituals’ involve some kind of blood sacrifice?”

...Oh gods.

Crick suddenly felt like someone had punched all the air from his lungs.

A blood sacrifice? Was that why Kaldena had... Was that why she had brought so many knights with her? She easily could have made this journey alone, considering her strength, but she had specifically chosen to travel with a full contingent, even though having so many along had undoubtedly slowed her down. Had she brought them with for the sole purpose of offering up their lives to the Shadow?

Crick had several friends amongst the Sacred Guard, some of which had surely been forced to come here. Ort was one of Kaldena’s personal bodyguards, after all, and so there was no way that he wasn’t...that he hadn’t...

Gods.

Gods, he did not want to think about it. He prayed that Throné was wrong. He prayed with everything he had. He did not want to lose anyone. He didn’t want any more lives to be sacrificed for Kaldena’s treachery, her unjust ambition, her hatred. She had already destroyed enough. He did not want to find his fellow knights slaughtered for something so...so—

A touch against the back of his hand, firm enough to be felt through the leather of his glove, drew him out of his thoughts. He hadn’t even realized just how tightly he was gripping the hilt of his sword or how badly that grip had been trembling until he was suddenly stilled by that simple yet grounding gesture.

“Come, let us press onward,” said Temenos, his voice calm and controlled even though there was a tightness in his expression, as if all the possibilities that had been brought up were swirling behind those pale green eyes. “If the ritual has started, then we must do everything we can to stop it before it is complete.”

His words were met with a chorus of agreement, and soon they were all back to making their way through the ruins, just with a few more lanterns this time to illuminate the way.

He remained close to Temenos again, just in case something were to happen, though whether it was for the inquisitor’s safety or his own comfort this time, he didn’t know. Perhaps it was both.

“Crick,” Temenos eventually said, his voice soft but easy enough to hear in the silent cave. He gave the cleric his attention while still staying vigilant. “Do you have friends amongst Kaldena’s retinue?”

“I...” It took him a moment to answer, having not expected the question. Until now, Temenos had never really inquired as to how Crick felt about his fellow knights aside from a few generalizations. “I do. I have no way of knowing exactly who she brought with her, but...my friend Ort is one of her personal knights. As much as I would rather not think about it, he is more than likely here.”

The two of them had been anointed together. They had gone through training together. He couldn’t even count all the times that they had fought back-to-back during missions, determined to prove themselves worthy of becoming Sanctum Knights. They had come from such different backgrounds, but that hadn’t mattered in the slightest. The two of them had just kind of clicked, their overall goal being a shared one: to walk a righteous path and make a positive difference in the world.

If Ort were to realize what Kaldena was truly attempting to do, he would likely try to confront her about it.

She would kill him. Without any hesitation, she would kill him. Just like how she had almost killed Crick.

Don’t think about it.

He needed to keep a level head. He had to, no matter how hard it was.

He had to.

“...If Kaldena truly did bring them here only to sacrifice them, then we will do everything in our power to save those who yet live. You have my word, Crick.”

It was only a small comfort, because Temenos was not the type to make a promise he couldn’t keep. He would never tell Crick that everything would turn out alright, that all of his fellow knights would be saved, that his friends weren’t gone—and that was fine, really, he would never ask for more than that. He didn’t need platitudes or empty words. He didn’t need to be consoled or given false hope. The inquisitor was not one for codling people; he said what he thought and never gave in to conformities, no matter how it might sound to others.

It was only a small comfort, and yet...

“Thank you, Temenos.”

It meant more to him than he could say. Hopefully there would be some who were still alive, who hadn’t met some sort of dreadful fate.

However, as they arrived at the top of a rather long stairway, elaborately decorated with several arches, Crick’s heart immediately plummeted at the sight that awaited them there. He heard a gasp from Agnea, a curse from Partitio and Throné, and his own sharp inhale left him feeling gutted with how deeply it cut.

Bodies...

There were several bodies, soaked in blood, their scattered blades coated in red.

Castti was the first one to rush forward, dropping next to a fallen knight and turning him over to see the damage, to check for signs of life. To figure out just what the hell had happened to leave so many (he counted at least eight) in such a horrific state.

“These wounds are deep,” the apothecary said, checking the gashes carefully, somehow managing to avoid getting her clothes or hands stained as she crouched there. “They were clearly made with a sword, not by monsters. We need to check if any of them are still alive.”

Those words were met with a flurry of motion as they all moved forward, ready to help if there were indeed any survivors. Ochette was particularly skilled at picking up signs of life just from scent alone, even though she was quick to note that the dark stench in the cave, whether caused by the Shadow itself or by Kaldena’s uncontrolled malice, was clinging to them, making it hard to tell just how hurt they actually were. The other concerning thing was the very scene itself: eight wounded knights, their blades all covered in blood. They had clearly fought against something. Or someone.

Castti had said it wasn’t monsters. Their injuries were made by swords.

He didn’t...like what that implied. Especially since if their assailant had been Kaldena, there would not be so many blades lying about, their edges stained crimson.

In the end, it was Temenos who drew the conclusion that no one wanted to, the conclusion that caused something heavy to settle in Crick’s chest.

“While I do not wish to jump to conclusions,” he began in a low tone, a trace of disgust and anger hidden within the words, “it looks as though they drew their blades on each other.”

“Y-you mean...” began Agnea, only to cut herself off as she pressed her hands to her mouth.

“But what could have caused them to...?” asked Hikari, sounding just as horrified as the dancer, his question trailing off as his eyes drifted over the gruesome scene.

“The Shadow, most likely,” the inquisitor replied. “In certain circumstances, it can cost someone their mind, as we saw in Gravell. This time, however, we were too late to intervene. The only other reason I can think of is that those who were tricked by Kaldena turned on those who were loyal to her, or vice versa. It’s impossible to know for certain without being able to ask them ourselves.”

“You’ll get the chance to eventually,” said Castti. “At least three yet live. If I can stop the bleeding, I should have enough supplies to—”

“Hey, there’s more people over here!” called Ochette. “And one of them is still awake!”

With his heart in his throat, because Ort—Ort hadn’t been among those eight—Crick turned and ran up the remaining stairs, followed closely by Temenos, Throné, and Osvald. Through the darkness, he could see a pocket of light where Ochette was kneeling next to someone who was propped up against the wall, and it wasn’t long before he caught sight of darkened steel, a red tabard, black hair, and—

“Ort!”

Blood.

There was a lot of blood. He was bleeding from a gash across his chest, his armor cut clean through, but despite his wounds, he was indeed conscious. He even jumped at the call of his name, hissing through his teeth as he turned his head, eyes wide.

Crick dropped to his knees next to him, his hands rising helplessly, hovering, unsure of how to help. He wasn’t a healer, he had only ever treated minor wounds before, and there was every chance he would only make things worse if he tried.

“Crick?” his friend asked, and in his panic, Crick didn’t even register the note of sheer disbelief in his voice.

“Just hold on, Ort. You’ll be alright.” He didn’t know if he would be alright. “We just need to stop the bleeding and—”

“You’re still alive?”

Shocked, the knight finally looked up and met that disbelieving gaze, filled with confusion and hope and pain. There was relief there too, as well as the look of one who had just seen a ghost, and it all painted a very clear picture.

Ort had thought he was dead. He didn’t know why, but it didn’t much matter. Saving his life obviously came first.

“I am,” he said, forcing himself to push down his surprise, his panic. Neither were useful in this situation. “We can talk about it later. Right now, we need to stop the bleeding.”

“Allow me.”

Crick looked up and saw Temenos standing beside him, though the cleric’s gaze was drifting across the room at large. He hadn’t been paying much attention earlier, his concern for his best friend blinding him to everything else, but there were three other knights in the area, all with similar wounds to Ort’s, all of them still somehow blessedly alive.

The inquisitor took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and called upon his magic.

“Be healed.”

Just two words, and yet they were followed by such a powerful yet gentle light, washing over the fallen men. While the wounds themselves didn’t close—more concentrated healing would be needed for such deep gashes, and Temenos couldn’t spend the time or the magic necessary when Kaldena was so close—the bleeding did come to a stop, and if the way Ort suddenly relaxed was any indication, a good deal of the pain had been taken away as well.

When the light faded, his friend looked up, and with a smile, he said, “Thank you, Inquisitor.”

“You needn’t thank me,” Temenos replied, though not unkindly. “All I did was staunch the bleeding. You had best not move for now, lest your wounds reopen. Our apothecary should be along shortly to...ah, Castti, there you are. How fares the other three?”

“They’re stable for now,” she replied as she made her way up the stairs, her eyes taking in her four additional patients. “My magic isn’t as strong as yours, but it was enough. However, I need to start treating them. If left unattended, the wounds could start to fester, and with how deep they are, I fear that any infection would be a death sentence.”

“Then I shall leave these men in your care. Do everything you can for them.”

A worried furrow appeared on her brow as she looked around, and with just a bit of hesitation, she said, “I don’t know if I can treat this many on my own. And if any monsters were to show up...”

Seven people was a lot for one apothecary to manage, especially in a hostile environment. They had been lucky on their trip through the cave, due in part to how large their group was, but the monsters lurking in the shadows would be far more likely to attack if someone was alone. She could not both administer aid to and protect the knights. She was going to need help.

“Very well then,” the cleric said, taking a look around briefly before coming to a decision. “Partitio, Agnea, could you assist Castti? And Hikari, would you be able to protect everyone from anything that might attempt to do them harm?”

“Of course, Temenos,” the prince said, placing a hand on the hilt of his blade. “It shall be done. None of them will be lost.”

“You have my thanks.”

“Is it wise to split up like this?” asked Castti, still looking concerned, because even though there were clearly those who needed her help, Crick knew that it wasn’t in any of these people’s natures to allow their friends to walk into danger alone (even when they weren’t alone).

“I would hesitate to call any of what we are attempting to do here ‘wise,’” Temenos replied, the words sardonic even if the look on his face wasn’t. “Kaldena is dangerous, but having too many people involved in a fight carries a similar detriment to having too few. We shall manage, but if we do end up requiring assistance, you are all close enough to come to our aid. I will not allow anyone else to fall here, Castti. I swear it.”

“Yourself included?”

The corner of his mouth twitched before lifting into a small, amused smile.

“I certainly hope so. It would be a shame to die here, after all. I shall do my best to return.”

The apothecary breathed a deep sigh, but she clearly knew that she wouldn’t be getting more than that from the evasive inquisitor. It was hard to tell whether Temenos was just choosing to be difficult for the sake of it or if he truly didn’t feel that he could make that promise and keep it. He’d had no problem swearing to keep his companions safe, but when it came to himself...

Crick wrapped his hand around the hilt of his blade just as those green eyes fell on him, a pensive look settling across their owner’s face.

“Crick,” he began, only for the knight to abruptly stand and effectively cut off what his charge had been about to say. He was pretty sure he already knew anyway.

“I’m coming with you,” he stated, and judging by the sudden flash of surprise, he had guessed right. “I will not be left behind, Temenos.”

Because if the inquisitor was not going to properly safeguard his own life, then Crick would do it for him. He was his Godsblade, after all.

The surprise gave way to something that almost appeared fond before the cleric shook his head and replied, “Very well. Then let us be off. Although, before we leave, I have a favor to ask of you, Agnea.”

“Huh?” The dancer looked up, clearly caught off guard, before a bright smile split her face as she bounded over. “Sure, of course! Whatever you need, Temenos.”

“The divine blessing of Sealticge. Could you bestow it upon me?”

A serious look fell across the young woman’s face as she nodded.

“You got it.”

She then closed her eyes and clasped her hands, similar to how one would do so in prayer, and after only a few seconds, a blue light began to surround her, swirling like a flickering flame in the air.

He was immediately reminded of the Sacred Flame, such a warm, comforting glow, and it struck him all the harder that these people, all eight of them, were blessed, that they were capable of doing what no one else could.

Agnea opened her eyes and dropped her hands, twirling as the light around her became a multitude of different colors, twisting into shapes, into music, with each and every step.

A dance, graceful and pure.

“I summon Sealticge, Lady of Grace!”

The same beautiful, reddish pink light that surrounded Agnea suddenly rose beneath Temenos until he was awash in it, the magic sinking into him, granting him whatever power he had requested, something that would aid them all in the battle to come.

Crick wanted to ask, but he knew there wasn’t time. He would do so later.

Because there would definitely be a later.

“Thank you, my dear,” said the inquisitor, the smile on his face genuine. He then turned to the path ahead of them, a short set of stairs that led into what looked like a massive chamber. It was still too dark to see, but the way the walls and the ceiling opened up was rather telling.

That was where Kaldena was. That was where the Shadow slept.

He moved next to Temenos once more, reclaiming his place at his side.

“Are you ready, Crick?”

It was a complicated question. He was about to once again face the woman who had almost killed him, who thought nothing of taking lives and sacrificing others, who would cast the entire world into darkness as recompense for what she had lost. He was afraid of her, there was no denying that, but he was also determined. He wanted to help bring this to an end, and he wanted to do it with his own two hands. To take back a little of what had been stolen from him and to make sure that nothing else was lost.

It was a complicated question, but his answer was not.

“I am.”

This time...

This time, things would be different.

As he walked forward with Temenos at his side and Throné, Osvald, and Ochette at their backs, he knew that things would be different.

Nothing would be lost.

He would not fall again.

“...I see you’ve followed the scent after all. Serves me right for underestimating the nose on the pontiff’s own hound.”

Temenos gripped the Staff of Judgment tightly and forced that mask of unaffected indifference upon his face.

From the moment he had met her, several years back now during a trip to Stormhail with the pontiff, Kaldena had immediately struck him as cold and condescending. In truth, however, he didn’t much mind the condescension. After all, he could be condescending himself on occasion, sometimes intentionally and sometimes not. In fact, if the Sacred Guard’s illustrious leader had been a little less icy in her interactions, a little less spiteful towards the Inquisition, he could have seen the two of them getting along rather well. He had always enjoyed bantering with those who could give as good as they got, unburdened by the opinions of others.

A shame that revenge had twisted her so thoroughly, that a confrontation like this was the only way for things to end.

“You flatter me.”

Truly a shame.

He moved closer to the dais and motioned for Crick to remain a step back. He did so without question, but the inquisitor did not miss the way his grip tightened around his sword, ready to draw it at a moment’s notice. He would probably need to before long, but for now, Temenos was on a mission. He still had a job to do, after all.

“Captain Kaldena,” he began, “I’ve come to...interrogate you.”

There was definitely amusement on her face as she crossed her arms over her chest and regarded him smugly.

“Oho? You would label me a heretic?”

“I came across some notes in the Kal Ruins,” he stated, pulling the small, worn journal from the pocket of his robes and brandishing it like a weapon. “The one who wrote these notes admitted to using Vados to further their own ends. Namely, killing any and all who held the remaining pages to the Book of Night. The last remaining member of the Kal people mentioned in these notes...is you, isn’t it? Kaldena.”

With a smile that he could only see as cruel, she dropped her arms to her sides as he tucked the book away, remaining wary despite the approval he could see in her eyes.

“Phenomenal, Temenos,” she said. “I should like to take you under my wing.”

He shook his head, in clear refusal. How dare she make light of this?

“Repent!” he demanded, forcing his free hand to remain open, to not curl into a fist in his frustration. “You are the one being interrogated here!”

“And I am indeed a heretic,” she admitted, her eyes narrowing. “I never believed in the flame.”

“So, the head of the Sacred Guard admits her heresy... You chose your victims according to scripture, to jab your proverbial thumb in the eyes of the gods. Fitting, for one who hates them as much as you do.”

That smile again, accompanied by laughter, as if she truly did find this so very amusing, as if she didn’t feel threatened or cornered at all. She probably didn’t, knowing her. Such arrogance...

“Why do you oppose me?” she asked, taking a few steps forward. “You gain nothing from it. And it would be a shame to kill you, so join me.”

Of all the...

“I refuse. While my relationship with the church and the gods may be tumultuous at times, I could never condone what you are doing. Perhaps I don’t stand to gain anything from it, as you said, but there is much I could lose if I allow you to continue, and I would never be able to face the ones you have wronged if I simply let you be. It would be a disservice to all those who helped me get here. This was not a feat I managed on my own.”

Those cold, calculating eyes shifted to the spot behind him, to where his loyal knight was standing.

“Crick Wellsely,” she drawled, and Temenos forced himself to remain still, to resist the urge to shield his little lamb from view (it’s not like he could anyway given their difference in size). “So, you survived after all. I take it you have your new master to thank for that. Did you come here seeking revenge, to try your hand at cutting me down for betraying the Flame and the gods you so love?”

“No,” he replied, and Temenos wondered if he was as calm as he sounded, as unafraid as that single word made him seem, lacking even the slightest hint of hesitation. He took those few remaining steps forward, until the two of them were side by side once again (the place that Crick had chosen for himself, the place that, by his own admission, he wanted to be), and then with all the conviction of a sworn knight, he stated, “I am here to protect Inquisitor Temenos, nothing more.”

...Inquisitor Temenos, huh?

It was a rare thing for Crick to use his title these days, having dropped the habit not long after they’d met. For the most part, he only ever called him “Inquisitor Temenos” when he was frustrated with him or attempting to get his attention. Sometimes both.

That was not the case this time, however. That wasn’t the case at all.

Using his title like that in deference, in faith... It was a show of pure, unwavering solidarity, of defiance against the one who had previously commanded his trust. Implying that she wasn’t even worth his consideration or time, but that Temenos was.

(He might’ve smiled if the situation weren’t so dire. He really was so very fond of his dear knight).

Kaldena was not ignorant of the slight that had been made against her, and the inquisitor watched as all remaining amusement drained from her expression, hardening into something aggravated and undeniably dangerous.

“So this is your answer then?” she asked. “You would both choose to stand against me? Why?”

In a single motion, she drew her massive greatsword, one that was said to hold the power of a god, and in response, Temenos raised the Staff of Judgment in a defensive stance as Crick, Ochette, Throné, and Osvald readied themselves for the battle that was to come.

“Why must you defy me, Temenos?”

He couldn’t help it as the corner of his mouth rose into a self-satisfied grin, the one that had earned him the ire of so many within the Sacred Guard. Including the woman standing before him.

“Because doubt is what I do.”

Her irritation was almost palpable.

“Now come, Kaldena. It is about time that you owned your sins.”

“My sins?” The words were accompanied by an incredulous laugh. “There are those in this world with sins far greater than my own. Like your precious gods, for instance. They created this world, and in their folly saw fit to taint it with humans. A sin for which they must be destroyed.”

“How many lives must be lost to satisfy your arrogance?” This woman...there was truly no hope for her at all, was there? She didn’t care about anything but vengeance, believing that she alone was in the right. That her cause was all that mattered.

Such a dangerous way of thinking.

“Surrender yourself, Kaldena,” he demanded, even though he knew it wouldn’t work. Despite everything, he still wanted to take her in alive. “For it is I who shall judge you and bring the truth to light.”

“Do you truly believe you can stand in my way? I will make the Shadow mine and avenge the Kal people! I will kill as many as it takes... I will become whatever I must to see my will done! Our enemies shall be buried with the power of the darkness my people have long despised! And if you will not move aside, then I shall cut you down. They say that only death can teach a fool.”

Her grip tightened, her stance shifted.

“So allow me to do the honors and send you to hell!”

That was all the warning he got before the captain of the Sacred Guard charged.

Thankfully, Temenos had already been in the process of gathering his magic. He had started the moment Kaldena had drawn her blade, knowing that it was just a matter of time before things turned violent. For now, his job in this fight was straightforward: keep everyone alive. While his prowess with offensive magic was second only to Osvald, his true strengths lay in protective enchantments and healing. There was a very specific reason why he had asked Agnea to grant him Sealticge’s divine blessing for this fight.

As Kaldena closed the distance between them, as Crick moved to intercept her blade and Throné used Shackle Foe to lessen the blow (he had once referred to her spells as “disenchantments,” having thought it was funny, only to earn himself a punch to the arm), Temenos whispered an incantation under his breath and cast Prayer to the Flame. And, thanks to Agnea, it spread across the entire battlefield, surrounding all of them in its protective glow, sparing him the need to cast it five separate times and allowing him to conserve his spirit for what was to come.

He would not use Heavenly Shine unless it was absolutely necessary, but he needed to prepare for the possibility nonetheless.

With an increase to his defense and a decrease to Kaldena’s strength, Crick was able to block her sword completely, not even struggling beneath the weight. He even managed to shove her back, which allowed Osvald and Throné to strike with magic, pelting her with ice and darkness in tandem. She swung her blade at the frozen spikes that shot out in front of her as an arrow from their resident hunter flew by, grazing her cheek. Frustrated, she knocked the second arrow right out of the air with her gauntleted arm and then raised her sword, covering it in a dark light. To his surprise, she didn’t try to swing it outward towards them, didn’t charge forward to slash at Crick or Throné who had drawn her dagger and moved forward to join the close-range fight, but instead she swung it down towards the ground only for the power enveloping it to spread out in a shockwave along the stones, striking each and every one of them in turn.

The force was dampened, thanks to his spell, but unfortunately Kaldena followed up her attack with a magical one, striking them all with a deep darkness. The spell itself wasn’t all that powerful, nothing that a quick healing spell couldn’t fix, but it did seem to come with some rather...irritating side effects.

“Hey, no fair!” he heard Ochette say. “I can’t see!”

Blindness.

Kaldena’s magic could inflict blindness. And they didn’t have Castti with them to undo it. It seemed as though only Ochette had been afflicted this time, but if all of them were to become blinded...

They could not allow Kaldena to cast spells. They needed to keep her occupied, to force her onto the defensive, and clearly Throné and Crick had arrived at that conclusion as well, trading blows with the captain and keeping her busy swinging her sword. He couldn’t help but be impressed with the two of them, having never truly fought together yet still managing to not get in each other’s way. Perhaps it was because they were both used to working with others, or perhaps it was just that their styles were so incredibly different that they complimented each other, fitting in where the other did not, but regardless of the reason, they were doing well. With only a dagger, there wasn’t too much that Throné could do against the captain’s armor, but their nimble thief was an expert when it came to finding openings, to sticking a blade into the small spaces where metal gave way to leather or cloth. And Crick, being the diligent knight that he was, made sure to keep Kaldena’s greatsword well away from his quick but unarmored companion.

Temenos renewed Prayer to the Flame when the light of his enchantment began to dim, and as Kaldena took a step back to prepare for a wider swing of her blade, he struck her with Holy Light at the same time that Osvald rained down lightning and a burst of wind magic came from Mahina as she flew by, which was followed by a hail of arrows as Ochette regained her sight.

Their young hunter, just like Throné, was rather good at finding vulnerable spots on an opponent, and while she maybe wasn’t as keen at locating them on humans as she was on beasts (in part because the beastling had a rule about not killing what she wouldn’t eat), her aim was true, and one arrow managed to sink deep into the unarmored part of the captain’s thigh.

Kaldena growled in frustration, ripping the arrow out almost violently, not caring about the damage it had caused. In her anger, she used her magic once again, calling the darkness down upon all of them, flooding their vision with dark light, and...

...And blinding Throné and Crick.

The inquisitor’s heart leapt into his throat. The worst possible scenario. They were too close to Kaldena and too far for anyone to intervene. He could see Ochette quickly nocking another arrow, but the captain was already raising her sword, and while his enchantment was still active, there was no guarantee that it would...

Thinking fast, he did the only thing he could. It would be the last spell he could cast across their entire party, but it would be worth it. He would use it at full strength.

Desperate, he drew on his magic and prayed it would form before Kaldena brought down her blade.

“Keep harm at bay, O sacred shield!”

A translucent blue shield formed in front of each of them, but it was the two in harm’s way that he was the most concerned about. Despite knowing that it would absorb the entirety of the blow (he had not held anything back while casting), his breath still caught when that massive sword struck Throné and Crick, their shields shattering on impact, the force of it knocking the two of them down but absorbing all of the damage in their place. In order to keep the captain from advancing on them, Osvald quickly threw more ice magic towards her, creating at least a temporary barrier, and as Ochette rained down more arrows and Mahina more wind, Temenos threw out another Holy Light, and amidst the onslaught of attacks, something in Kaldena finally snapped.

“Insolent creature...!”

She turned her gaze to him, her eyes narrow in anger, blood dripping down her cheek, and as she gathered magic around her blade, she aimed it in a concentrated wave of golden light right towards him.

His shield shattered, the force of it pulling a soft gasp from his lips as he took a step back to steady himself, but despite the impact sending a jolt through his body, he remained standing, defiant in the face of his enemy’s rage.

(He did not miss the way that Throné and Crick both tensed at the sound of him being struck, how they got to their feet and rubbed at their eyes even though it was unlikely to make the blindness disappear any faster).

“How long do you intend to pester me!?” Kaldena seethed, her gaze still fixed on him, but for the moment, at least, her blade was blessedly still.

...Very well then. If she wanted to talk, so be it. If nothing else, it would buy some time for his blinded friends.

“You already know the answer,” he stated. “Until the truth is revealed.”

“And you’ll be the one to do so? Don’t make me laugh! Humanity is powerless, Temenos. It is needy... It must cling to something for survival.”

“As you cling to power?”

She scowled at him, clearly unamused, before declaring, “The Shadow will be mine, no matter the cost.”

“And what is this Shadow?”

To his surprise, she laughed at him. It was amused and cruel, the laugh of someone who thought him a fool for having to ask, who had all of the answers and found it hilarious that he did not. He tightened his grip on his staff and waited. She would tell him eventually, there was no way that she wouldn’t, even if it was only to gloat at his lack of understanding. He needed information, and this was his best bet at getting it.

“The Shadow is everything,” she said, her grin almost manic in her arrogance, her glee. “It exists all throughout this world. It is with you while you sleep. It is with you while you fight for survival. It is with you always.”

Kaldena raised one gauntleted hand and pointed to him.

“It even lies within your breast.”

He raised one eyebrow at her but found that, despite her ramblings, the words sparked an undeniable curiosity. There was...something about what she had said, almost like a half-formed memory at the back of his mind.

“Oh?” Why did that...

Why did that sound so familiar?

“Were you not aware? Then see it for yourself!”

He tensed, watching as she whispered something under her breath, as the same darkness that seemed to coat the entire cave suddenly began to flow around her, pouring from her, billowing like smoke and giving off small whisps of an almost purplish light.

...It was the same.

It was exactly the same as Harvey, as the power he had called upon with Elena’s blood and the Book of Demons. He had tried to bend it to his will, to claim it as his own, believing it to be the seventh source, the One True Magic.

He had been wrong. Without a shadow of a doubt, he had been wrong, and in the end that power had consumed him.

“This, Temenos, is the Shadow!”

It had consumed him.

That laughter erupted from her again, the mirth of one so power hungry that nothing else mattered, nothing but her ambition and the dark magic that she believed was necessary to see it through.

And then, rather suddenly, that darkness became a flame, and almost as if she had been burned by it, the captain of the Sacred Guard gasped. She reached up to grip at her tabard with her free hand, trying to clutch at her chest through fabric and metal, and Temenos watched as those confident, cold eyes grew wide with fear.

“W-what’s happening?” she asked as the fire raged, flickering wildly around her. “Have I...have I failed?”

There was so much disbelief there, as if she had been certain that her ritual would work, that she could harness the true power of the Shadow that D’arqest had summoned all those many centuries ago. He wondered what had made her so confident in her actions, what exactly she had learned about this otherworldly power, and what would become of her now that it was proving to be beyond her grasp. Would she simply vanish like Harvey? Was that how things would end?

Destroyed because she had sought more power than she could control?

“Stop, no! This wasn’t what I... I will not be consumed! You c-cannot...do this to me!”

The fire and smoke surrounding her grew as she struggled, as she thrashed and screamed amidst the dark energy that continued to pour from her body. It became so thick, so cloying, so deep that soon he could no longer see her amidst the pitch black, could only hear as her cries began to dim, fading further and further until...

Until they changed. Until the timbre of her voice deepened, until those cries became haunting moans, and even though there was still a dark fire raging at the center of the dais, a chill unlike any he had ever felt before suddenly permeated the air.

The inquisitor was frozen in place. All of them were apparently frozen in place, their gazes fixed on the flames, and when they finally died out, when the fire dispersed and the smoke faded, it left behind a horrific sight.

“Kal...dena...?”

Long, skeletal limbs, white hair wild like vines...

A single, glowing eye visible upon a gaunt and shadowed face.

“No...you are...”

She had grown in size as well, thinner but several times taller, like her body had been stretched out, deformed, her skin no longer skin but a mesh of bone and metal with veins of red interwoven, filled with magic or blood he did not know, but they were unsettling, they were so very unsettling. They had even spread to her blade, warping the metal of her greatsword, overtaking it like some sort of infection and doubling its size, its weight, yet this abomination, this not Kaldena, hefted the weapon over her shoulder as if it weighed nothing at all.

Gods...

Gods, it was sickening.

“What...what the hell is that thing?” he heard Throné ask. It seemed that she and Crick had recovered from their loss of sight just in time to see the once captain of the Sacred Guard become a monster. Her reaction was justified, that note of unsettled horror he could hear in her voice, because even though they had seen and fought all sorts of people and creatures during their time together, nothing quite compared to the wraithlike being standing before them now.

Upon the shadowed planes of her face, he could see what might have been a mouth moving as a low moan reverberated throughout the cavern. The darkness clinging to the walls suddenly began to grow darker, to draw closer, pulsing and writhing and that probably wasn’t good.

Nothing about this was good. The tension was thick enough to cut.

And then, without any warning, Kaldena suddenly moved.

She’s fast!

That was the only thought that managed to cross his mind before she was there, right in front of him, with her blade raised high. There wasn’t time to move, wasn’t time to cast a spell—and even if he could cast one, there was nothing in his arsenal that would save him in that moment.

If not for Ochette and her impeccable timing, he would have been cleaved in two. Out of nowhere, the beastling leapt towards the former captain, her axe in hand, and brought it down on that thin, skeletal arm with everything she had. He could admit to being shocked. She had not been that close to him prior to the transformation—she would’ve had to have started running before Kaldena had even so much as moved in order to reach him in time. Her instincts were incredible, and the force of her blow was enough to knock the blade off course, causing it to strike the ground just off to the side of him, leaving him completely unscathed.

Barely even a second later, he felt a hand grab him by the shoulder and pull him back, away from the abomination, and while normally he might have complained about being manhandled, he figured that he could make an exception just this once. After all, Crick only ever grabbed him like that when he was trying to protect him, and as Temenos’s Godsblade, that was well within his rights. Even if the inquisitor didn’t always like the idea of being protected.

He watched as Crick, Throné, and Ochette struck out at the monster, watched as Osvald bathed her in flames during an opening. And then, he watched as the light of an enchantment suddenly enveloped her, but what type of enchantment he did not know. Was it an increase to her defense? Her magic? Her strength? She raised her blade high once again, and this time when Ochette tried to interrupt the blow, Kaldena simply shrugged it off, forcing Crick and Throné to dodge the attack which they only just managed to avoid.

An attack that, unlike before, split the ground where they had once stood. She had swung with enough force to shatter stone.

...Strength, then. Regardless of whatever other enhancements there might be, she had absolutely enhanced her strength.

“Throné!” he called, and true to form when it came to the thief, he didn’t even have to say what needed to be done.

“On it!”

While Kaldena was busy pulling her blade from the floor, Throné attempted to reduce her physical power, just like she had before at the start of the fight.

Only for it to fail, the light of her spell shattering like glass.

“Dammit.”

She tried again, but the same thing happened.

“It’s not working, I can’t...!” She couldn’t inhibit her strength. She couldn’t cancel out the enchantment. The spell simply refused to take effect, which meant that the boost was permanent—it could not be removed nor would it run out, not ever.

This twisted creature, a product of the Shadow and Kaldena’s all-consuming wrath, had been imbued with unnatural strength, enough to break apart stone with a single swing of her blade. If she were to bring that blade down upon any one of them, if they could not get out of the way, then...

...This was dangerous.

This was so very dangerous, and as that sword was swung towards his friends once more, all three managed to dodge, but the shockwave from the blow opened a few cuts along Ochette’s arms and a sizeable gash on Throné’s leg. As fast as they both were, they were also unarmored. They were going to have to be incredibly careful moving forward.

Fortunately, wounds like that were something he could fix.

“Be healed!”

A wave of healing magic washed over all of them, himself included, but when it did, something...odd fell over him, a heaviness that he had never experienced before. The darkness surrounding their battlefield almost seemed to pulse, and it felt a bit like some of his magic’s strength, the potency of his spell, was being drained away.

Temenos was an exceptional healer. He had been told that multiple times throughout his life. He had a knack for it, a gift, and so when he healed people, their wounds always closed quickly. As long as he wasn’t dealing with broken bones or life-threatening injuries, he could heal just about anything and in no time at all.

The gash on his dear assistant’s leg refused to heal. Try as he might, he could only get it to close but not to disappear. It was still raw, still red, still undeniably painful. It should’ve been healed completely, and under normal circumstances it would have been, but he was quickly starting to realize that these weren’t normal circumstances, that he had been right about something feeling off as he cast his spell.

The darkness, the power of the Shadow... It was affecting his ability to heal.

He couldn’t properly heal.

And with that realization came the far more distressing one that he couldn’t keep his friends safe. Sealticge’s blessing had run out, so he couldn’t use Prayer to the Flame or Sacred Shield on all of them anymore. He would have to pick and choose who he protected, use more of his spirit casting individual spells, and that wasn’t...it wasn’t practical, there was too much at risk. What if he misjudged who Kaldena was targeting and someone ended up...what if they all ended up...

...There was nothing else for it, was there? In the end, he only had one option. Heavenly Shine. The only way he could guarantee that everyone would make it out alive was with that spell. No matter what, he had to stop Kaldena. There was no coming back from her transformation, no point in trying to keep her alive. The thing before them could not answer questions, could not atone or repent. All any of them could do at this point was put her out of her misery.

His mind was made up. He would take the risk. This was his battle, his journey, and so if anyone was going to be betting their life on this endeavor, it should be him and him alone.

Taking a deep breath, Temenos released the Staff of Judgment and let it fall to the ground. He didn’t need it for this; it would only slow him down. He then turned and looked back at Osvald, who was the only one of them at a safe distance, having had no reason to get too close.

“Osvald, can you halt her movement with magic? I only need her to remain in place for a short while.”

There was curiosity in his eyes, a question clearly forming in his mind, but understanding dawned soon after as he realized what the inquisitor intended to do. With a nod, he readied his magic, throwing a powerful ice spell towards the abomination that had once been Kaldena, freezing her limbs and creating several frozen spikes across the floor. Crick, Throné, and Ochette quickly backed off as the spell expanded so as not to get caught up in it, and Temenos took that small opening to give them a command.

Because he needed them to move.

“Ochette!” he called. “Could you slow her down? Any method will do.”

“You got it!” she called back before moving in without hesitation, avoiding the ice, and then landing a heavy blow against one of the monster’s legs. It buckled, and Osvald was quick to send in more ice as the beastling retreated, creating a decent barrier around Kaldena. It would likely take her a while to get through it.

Perfect.

“And now, the three of you need to leave. Fall back to where Osvald is.”

“What?” asked Throné, but much like their observant scholar, it only took her a second to figure out his plan. “Temenos, are you really going to—”

“Yes, I am.” He had already started to draw on his magic, could feel it flowing through and around him as everything began to glow a faint blue. He would put everything he had into this. “She is too dangerous, and the darkness permeating this place is affecting my ability to heal. So I am going to put an end to it.”

It was obvious that she wanted to say something, that she wanted to ask something; he could see it there in her eyes—what if this isn’t enough, they said—but she held her tongue, mostly for his sake but also for the sake of the very worried knight standing at her side. Crick really was an open book, his emotions written plain across his face, and it was obvious that he didn’t like this plan, that allowing Temenos to put himself at risk didn’t sit well with him at all. But the inquisitor knew that out of respect, his little lamb would listen. This was their best chance at winning, and all of them had to know that.

So, albeit reluctantly, they retreated, and Temenos turned his full, undivided attention onto Kaldena. She swung her blade violently at the ice surrounding her while attempting to get back to her feet. It was true that they hadn’t been able to do much damage to her in this form, so he could only pray that what they had managed to do before her transformation was enough. This needed to work, because he didn’t really know what he would do if it didn’t.

He called upon the entirety of his spirit and found that it came to him much faster than before. Understandable, really—he had certainly not been idle over the past several days. Thanks to all the practicing he had done with Osvald, he had a much better grasp on just about everything when it came to casting Heavenly Shine, aside from the actual act of casting it, of course. He had pushed himself every day to become faster, to increase his magical stamina so that he wouldn’t immediately pass out, and he had even memorized every formula that the scholar had given him over the last week, even the ones that he hadn’t been certain would be of use.

He could do this. He would do this.

No matter what, he would win and put an end to this infernal nightmare.

His whole body was aflame.

“Aelfric, unleash your fury!”

The light gathered and then exploded, blinding in its brilliance, and while he might’ve just been imagining things, it actually seemed even brighter than before. A sign that he had gotten stronger, perhaps, that the spell was more stable, that he had gained more control. He would be sure to ask Osvald later for his analysis.

With his eyes closed, he couldn’t see what was happening, but he was still perfectly capable of hearing, and he definitely heard it when the light inevitably struck Kaldena, her low, droning voice becoming a wail as her Shadow-infested body was burned by holy light. He cringed at the sound, taking no pleasure in this (he hadn’t wanted to kill her, hadn’t wanted to kill anyone in his pursuit of the truth), and so when that spine-chilling cry finally ceased, fading away, there was no satisfaction within him, only relief and a sense of pity for the woman who had allowed herself to succumb, falling prey to the dark.

The light slowly faded, his spell coming to an end, and as he opened his eyes, he waited for the exhaustion, the numbness, but for the moment, at least, neither one set in. Not wanting to get his hopes up too much (confident in his abilities though he might be, he had a hard time believing that he could have improved that considerably in such a short amount of time), the inquisitor remained exactly where he was and looked across the dais.

There was black smoke, a massive cloud of it, dark as pitch and impossible to see through. Heavenly Shine was meant to burn away one’s enemies, to reduce them to ash if the stories were to be believed. Was that what had happened? He could see no movement within, so...so...

...Was it over? Was it truly over? Had that been enough to subdue her? Not being able to see a form within the smoke was a good thing, right? The smoke itself was a good sign, right? Surely it had to imply that the light really had burned away the darkness, the corrupt abomination that had once been human, once been Kaldena, turning her to naught but ash.

Surely that meant it was over, right? That he had won, that they had won, that he had been correct to learn Heavenly Shine, that all of that training, all of that practicing really hadn’t been for—

“Temenos!”

Throné’s shout reached him a second before Kaldena emerged from the smoke.

His breath caught in his lungs as the world slowed down to a crawl.

...It hadn’t been enough. She was still standing, still moving. She was damaged, sure—her right arm missing, part of her hair burned away, several holes in her legs and torso as tendrils of smoke rose from her body, pieces of her dissipating as her monstrous form slowly but surely fell apart. All it would’ve taken was a little more magic, a little more of his spirit—it had only just barely not been enough, and now she was...

Now she was charging towards him, her sword raised high, and even as Osvald called down lightning to strike her, she simply plowed through, single-minded in her determination to reach him. There was no one who could help, no one who could intervene, they were too far away—Heavenly Shine required space, and so there was distance between himself and his companions, meaning that he was on his own, he was on his own­, and he needed to move.

He needed to move. He needed to get out of the way. If he didn’t, he would die—Kaldena would cleave him in two. Standing there in shock was not an option if he wanted to live, and he very much wanted to live, so...

So he needed to move.

And for the record, he tried to. He really did try. But the exhaustion from depleting his spirit, which hadn’t struck him immediately upon completing his spell like it had all the times before, began to set in just as he took a step to the left, just as Kaldena reached him with her blade held high.

A sharp pain erupted in his right arm as he threw himself out of the way of her downward swing, but he didn’t have time to think about it, didn’t have time to think about anything as the exhaustion was quickly followed by that damnable numbness (he hadn’t avoided the side effects after all, more training was clearly in order), which at least meant that he didn’t feel it as he slammed into the hard stone ground. A small mercy. Unfortunately, it also meant that he couldn’t move, that he could do nothing but lie there on his side in a heap of limbs, his cloak obscuring a part of his view due to how it had fallen around and over him. However, he could still see Kaldena, smoke billowing from her battered body, clearly on her last leg, but there was still strength left in her to turn towards him as she raised her blade with a trembling arm once more.

And yet the final blow never came.

Instead, he watched as armor and a cloak (not the ones their wearer was used to but ones that suited him all the same) appeared in front of him, a sword coming to rise above a head of golden-brown hair. Two hands held it aloft, one gripping the hilt and the other with the blade resting flat against his palm, a defensive stance to block an attack from above as that monstrous greatsword crashed against it, the clash of metal screeching to the point where it made the inquisitor’s head hurt.

He didn’t have the strength left in him to panic, even as he remembered how that red sword, an amalgamation of metal and veins and magic, had struck the ground and split it, sundering rock with the same ease as unguarded flesh. In the end, however, any fear he might have felt was unfounded, because Crick, his dear Godsblade, did not buckle beneath the force, was able to in fact push back against Kaldena’s wavering strength and break her stance, changing his grip on his broadsword and swinging it in an arc to strike just below the monster’s shoulder where there was no armor, severing the partially-disintegrated limb from its source.

A wall of fire came after, followed by a volley of arrows, a gust of wind and light, the flash of a dagger and sword amidst the chaos, and surely—surely that meant it was over for real this time, right? That he could rest. That they could finish the fight without him.

He was so very tired.

Temenos allowed himself to let go of his awareness, knowing that it was pointless to fight the pull of sleep, but just before he did, his gaze drifted to his right arm, folded beneath his cloak in his crumpled state.

He had been certain that he had felt a pain in it just before the numbness set in, and...oh.

Oh, he thought to himself vaguely, catching sight of something distinctly red. That probably isn’t good.

It wasn’t good at all, really. Someone was going to be mad at him.

A lot of people might be mad at him.

But he didn’t have the energy to care. His friends were safe and the monster was gone. The nightmare was over.

At last, it was all over.

For the moment, at least, he could finally, finally rest.

...Temenos was unconscious. Again.

Crick was really starting to hate this.

Honestly, this man—this extremely aggravating man, despite the fact that Crick owed him his life, was going to be the death of him. He didn’t know for sure if someone could actually die from worrying too much, but if it was possible, then that was surely the direction he was heading.

He had thought that his heart might just stop when Kaldena (or the thing that had once been Kaldena) somehow survived a pure explosion of holy magic and emerged from the smoke to attack the inquisitor. The moment it had happened, he had started running. He had known that he wouldn’t make it in time, that he wasn’t fast enough to close the distance, but none of that had mattered to him, so he had run anyway. So had Throné, for the record, while Ochette had abandoned her axe in favor of nocking an arrow with the clear intention of trying to interrupt the attack.

None of them had been fast enough to stop the former captain, but Temenos, by some miracle, had managed to get himself out of the way. He had crashed to the ground immediately afterward though, either from the momentum or the repercussions of his spell, and so there had been no chance of him getting out of the way again.

In the end, Crick didn’t even hesitate to put himself in harm’s way. There hadn’t been time to think about what he was doing, no time to wonder if he would even be able to block that monstrous blade as it was once again raised. All that had mattered was saving Temenos.

He had been fortunate that Kaldena was almost out of strength, that Heavenly Shine had burned away several parts of her body to the point where it had been crumbling away even as she pressed forward, driven by nothing more than a desire to kill. He hadn’t truly known whether or not he could block her blade, if he would be strong enough, but it hadn’t been a matter of whether or not he could—he had needed to—because living with the consequences of not being able to wasn’t something he had wanted to endure.

And so he had blocked it.

He had blocked it, pushed it aside, and then severed the limb so that she could never swing that grotesque blade again.

The battle had ended shortly after that, and as the woman who had once been his captain vanished amidst flame and light, her body dispersing into smoke, the power of the Shadow that had been clinging to the walls and spilling forth from every crevice finally lifted, taking its oppressive heaviness along with it.

It had felt like the entire room breathed a sigh of relief.

...What an unpredictable turn of events. He had never expected that Kaldena would become...something like that, a mere puppet to the power she had sought to control. A part of him felt sorry for her, knowing the truth as he did, but her tragic end did not undo all the suffering she had caused, the lies she had told, the manipulations and the cruelty and the fact that she had tried to kill him, tried to kill Temenos, tried to drown the world in Shadow all to take revenge for her clan.

Her actions were unforgivable, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t mourn her loss, mourn for the woman he had thought she was, for what she might’ve been if things had been different, if her hate hadn’t been so consuming, if she hadn’t lost herself along the way.

If she had simply chosen a different path.

With a heavy heart, he offered up a silent prayer to the gods as he sheathed his blade (it was the least he could do for those who had died), and knowing that they should probably make their way back to the others soon, to see how things were going, he turned around and dropped to his knees next to his unconscious charge.

Someone was going to have to carry him.

Correction, Crick was going to have to carry him. While Osvald was technically capable of doing so as well, had done so more than once by this point already, he would rather...well...

He would rather be the one to do it. Because Temenos was his...charge—Temenos was his charge, his responsibility, not...not his, not like that, the inquisitor didn’t belong to him, what was he even...why did he...

Clearly the battle had taken its toll on him, that had to be the reason why something so ridiculous had crossed his mind. He should focus instead on getting out of here, and so he shook his head to rid himself of such troublesome thoughts and reached out towards the cleric.

He stopped when something odd caught his eye.

Temenos was lying on his side. In a far less dismal setting, it would probably look as though he had simply fallen asleep while using his cloak as a blanket, but as Crick was watching, a small, dark spot began to form upon its surface and then spread.

It only took him a moment to realize that the inquisitor’s pure white cloak was slowly becoming red.

“No...”

His breath caught in his throat as he reached out and moved the fabric out of the way, fear coiling tight in his chest, and despite knowing what he might see, it did nothing to prepare him for the sight.

He had thought that...

He had thought he got out of the way. That first swing after Kaldena had emerged from the smoke, he had thought that Temenos had gotten out of the way.

He didn’t.

“No.”

There was a gash, one spanning the entire length of his arm, blood soaking the tattered remains of his sleeve and spilling slowly down his side, onto the stone, staining everything crimson.

His first thought, swept off in a sea of panic, was to wonder if someone could die from a wound to their arm, if it could even bleed enough to put a person’s life in danger. His second thought was a sharp, desperate realization that he did not want to find out.

...What was he supposed to do? Temenos was unconscious, he couldn’t heal himself, and even if he wasn’t unconscious, he didn’t have any spirit left after using Heavenly Shine, so a healing spell was completely out of the question.

The only other option was—

“Castti,” he realized.

Temenos needed Castti.

And Crick needed to make himself useful and stop the bleeding.

He was no apothecary. He had only ever treated minor wounds before, having learned about basic field medicine during training, but he knew that applying pressure to a bleed was the only way to slow it down without the aid of magic.

So, as carefully and quickly as he possibly could, he rolled the inquisitor onto his back, removed his own cloak (brand new, about to be stained in blood, but he didn’t care), and pressed it firmly over the wound.

He then called for help.

“Someone get Castti!”

He didn’t bother to look back, to see if one of them would do as he said, but he could hear the sound of wings beating, of quick steps against the stone floor (Mahina and Ochette), and he was grateful for all of a second that they had listened, that he didn’t have to explain, before his fear took the place of everything else.

He tried to tell himself that it would be fine, that Temenos would be alright, that there was no way he could die from something like this—Castti would heal him, surely. He tried, but it was hard not to panic, hard not to let his mind wander to the worst possible outcome, and he wasn’t sure if he had ever been more relieved than when Throné suddenly dropped down next to him and managed to interrupt his increasingly frantic thoughts.

“What happened?” she asked, straightforward and to the point. There was no way she couldn’t see, that she wouldn’t figure it out for herself, but he answered her question nonetheless.

“His arm... I thought he got out of the way, but...”

Her hands soon joined his, applying pressure to the places he couldn’t cover with just his alone, and in silence, the two of them waited for Castti.

They didn’t have to wait long.

Hurried footsteps soon echoed across the room, more than one set, and before he knew it, a new pair of hands, steady and sure, were moving his and Throné’s out of the way. He didn’t want to let go, even though he knew he had to, that Castti couldn’t work if she couldn’t get at the wound, but it was hard to think straight when there was blood on his hands, the inquisitor’s blood, and it wasn’t until yet another hand, larger than the others, fell onto his shoulder that something in his chest loosened, allowing him to finally breathe.

It felt like he had been holding his breath for ages.

He looked up at Osvald, surprised by the kind gesture but certainly not ungrateful for it, and with a slightly clearer head, he turned his gaze back to Temenos.

Castti’s hands were alight with magic.

It was an unbelievably comforting sight.

The bleeding would stop, and after about a minute or two (or five, he hadn’t really been keeping track) of concentrated healing, it finally did. The apothecary ended her spell and then immediately began pulling several things from her satchel, only a few of which Crick recognized (again, he was no apothecary), and as she went about tending to their friend’s injury, she patiently explained the process. He got the feeling that much of that was done for their sake.

“You’re not going to stitch it?” asked Throné.

“No. For now, at least, there’s no need. I was able to stop the bleeding, and while I can’t close it with magic, Temenos can. He should be able to heal it once he wakes up. If for some reason he can’t, or it takes too long for him to wake, I’ll use sutures, but salve, gauze, and bandages should be enough.”

Castti worked diligently, her hands steady and sure of their craft, and before long, the inquisitor’s right arm was bandaged from shoulder to wrist, tightly bound and wrapped in multiple layers to protect it, to minimize the risk of it starting to bleed again. As an extra precaution, she also used several more bandages to create a makeshift sling to guarantee that the limb wouldn’t move, because all it would take was for it to bend in just the wrong way, for the partially healed wound to pull at the edges and tear for it to...

Crick shook his head, ridding himself of the thought. He didn’t want to think about it, and so he wouldn’t. Better to focus on the here and now, not the what-ifs. There was still so much they all needed to do.

And the most pressing matter on their plate was...

“We need to get everyone back to the village,” said Castti. “I’ve treated them all as best I could here, but this environment isn’t suitable for the kind of care that most of them need. The problem is that transporting eight people through the jungle will take all day with just us, especially since many of the knights will need to be moved carefully—some of them have broken ribs in addition to their wounds.”

The apothecary looked over at Ochette, who had been standing at her side, watching anxiously.

“Ochette, do you think the beastlings would be willing to lend us a hand?”

The young hunter perked up immediately.

“You bet!” she replied. “We beastlings are a friendly bunch. We’d never turn our backs on someone who needed help.”

“Alright, then could you go back to the village and find some volunteers? Take Agnea with you, and maybe see if they have any supplies that could be used to make stretchers. Some sturdy branches and blankets should be enough.”

“You got it, Ma!”

The beastling took off with Mahina close behind, and Crick watched them go for a moment before giving his attention back to Temenos, unable (and unwilling) to pull his gaze away for too long. However, he quickly felt a pair of eyes on him, and when he hesitantly looked up, he found that Castti was staring at him with a somewhat curious expression on her face. It was...perhaps a little unnerving.

“...Is something wrong?” he asked her, unsure of what else to say, of why she was looking at him like that. It felt a bit like he was being evaluated for some reason.

“Were you hurt at all?”

He simply blinked at her for a moment, confused, but his confusion didn’t last long because Castti was an apothecary, so of course she would be asking him something like that.

“No,” he replied. “Temenos healed us before he... Though I wasn’t truly injured prior to that either.” He had been extremely fortunate in the end, only sustaining a few cuts and bruises thanks to his armor and the aid of his new friends, all of which had been healed by the inquisitor prior to him using Heavenly Shine.  

He hadn’t thought that he would be able to hold his own against Kaldena, but with a little help, he had managed to keep her at bay. Not being alone had made all the difference. A stark contrast to how things had gone in Stormhail.

“Then,” continued Castti, her expression softening just a bit, a hint of a smile on her lips, “could I ask you to carry him? You shouldn’t have to worry about hurting his arm thanks to the sling, so...”

His answer was immediate.

“Of course.” Because this was a burden he would gladly bear, and in truth, it wasn’t really a “burden” at all. He wanted to do whatever he could for Temenos, not just as a knight but as a friend, and right now that meant carrying him back to where everyone else was and then possibly all the way back to the village as well.

It was a rather long walk through the jungle.

He found that he didn’t particularly care.

With a great deal of caution, he picked up the inquisitor, allowing Castti to adjust the sling and make sure everything was fine before carefully getting to his feet. Temenos was lighter than he had expected, a perfectly comfortable weight in his arms, and without even thinking about it, simply because he could (because he wanted to), he pulled the cleric just a little bit closer to his chest.

Like this, he could see him breathing, each and every breath deep and even and there. It settled something within him, allowed him to push the fear away just for a moment, even if it wasn’t quite enough to remove that sharp tightness that had wound itself around his heart. Best not to think about it too much. He didn’t have time to worry right now, not when there was still so much that needed to be done.

It was time to get moving.

With a shuddering breath, Crick turned and walked away from the dais, content in the knowledge that Temenos was alive, that both of them were alive, and that the truth had finally been brought to light.

He could sort out the rest of his thoughts later. There would be plenty of time for him to fall apart later.

He could dwell on everything later.

For now, he had a job to do.

Chapter Text

Crick was well aware (somewhere, in the back of his mind) that there were far more productive things that he could be doing with his time.

He could have gone for an early morning run. He could be training with Hikari. He should actually be cleaning his sword and his armor, which he had dumped in a corner the previous day after arriving back in the village and hadn’t so much as looked at any of it since.

But no. Instead, he was sitting at the bedside of a man who was only sleeping (according to Castti). Not critically injured, not even sick, just...just sleeping. That’s it.

Seriously, there were so many more productive things that he could be doing, that he really should be doing, but...in the end, he found that he didn’t particularly care. This was the only thing he wanted to do, and that was enough for him, even if he didn’t fully understand why. It’s not like him being there was making much of a difference or anything; his presence would not result in Temenos waking up faster, after all. Honestly, his bedside vigil was more likely to earn him a bout of teasing from the inquisitor than thanks. Still though, he found it impossible to move from his spot, and so he would remain. It was as simple as that.

Besides, the quiet of the room would give him some time to think, because he certainly hadn’t gotten the chance to last night. Upon returning to the village and getting everyone situated at the inn, Castti had more or less forced a slumber sage tonic into his hands and told him to drink it out of worry that he wouldn’t be able to get any sleep otherwise.

She had probably been right, but still...

The knight breathed a deep sigh and tried to relax. Truth be told, when looking at the big picture, things had gone surprisingly well yesterday. Well, after the battle, anyway. Just like Ochette had said, the beastlings really were a friendly bunch. Several of them had immediately come to their aid upon being told that there were wounded within the ruins, including their guide Shirlutto, who may very well have just accompanied everyone to guarantee that no one would get lost in the woods (that was a guide’s prerogative, after all). Regardless, thanks to all the extra help, it had only taken them two trips to get all of the injured back to the village, which was where another act of unexpected kindness had found them in the form of the small but bighearted innkeeper.

Without even being asked to, she had pretty much donated her establishment to Castti as a makeshift infirmary, making sure that the apothecary had plenty of blankets and buckets of water in order to treat all those who needed care. Her daughter as well had been running back and forth, doing everything she possibly could to help and smiling all the while, even checking in on the rest of them, the ones who were perfectly healthy, to guarantee they had everything necessary for a nice, pleasant stay.

She had simply been happy to have guests to take care of, she had said, since so few passed through the village, and Crick had found himself impressed given just how young she seemed to be. Even just that morning, when she had seen him standing next to Temenos’s bed (the inquisitor had his own small room, given that he didn’t require constant medical attention like some of the knights), the little girl had brought him a wooden chair to sit on, dragging the piece of furniture that had been larger than she was with an almost single-minded determination.

He had quickly walked over and taken it from her, not wanting her to hurt herself in her efforts, and upon thanking her for her thoughtfulness, he had been rewarded with one of the brightest smiles he had ever seen.

Seriously, a lot of humans could certainly learn a thing or two from the beastlings. They were such a kind, open-hearted people.

And so, after being gifted a chair to sit upon, that was exactly what he had done with it, placing it right next to his friend’s bed and taking a seat. He would remain there until Temenos woke up or until he was forcibly removed from the room, whichever came first. The former was obviously preferable, for a lot of reasons.

...Castti had told him there was nothing to worry about. Temenos wasn’t in any danger; he hadn’t lost enough blood to put his life at risk, and draining one’s spirit was not in and of itself a detrimental thing to a person’s health. Crick knew that. He knew, but it didn’t seem to matter. Seeing the inquisitor lying there, divested of his usual robes and with his right arm wrapped completely in bandages was...not distressing, it wasn’t quite like that—he wasn’t that irrational of a person, but it...it bothered him. It bothered him because it shouldn’t have happened.

He should never have allowed it to happen. The moment the light had faded from Heavenly Shine, he should have started moving. He should not have been waiting to see if Kaldena was dead or alive, he should have simply erred on the side of caution, because by the time they had realized that she wasn’t dead, it had been too late to do anything. And that was unacceptable. He was the inquisitor’s Godsblade, for heaven’s sake, and so he should have kept Temenos’s safety at the forefront of his mind, should have gone to him immediately if for no other reason than to make sure he didn’t collapse to the ground from using his spell.

Had he only started moving sooner, then the cleric would not have gotten hurt. Crick would’ve been able to block the first strike, and the five of them could have walked away from the battle almost entirely unscathed. Unfortunately, that just wasn’t how things had turned out, and so instead, here he was, sitting next to Temenos’s bed and doing his best not to let the events of the previous day overwhelm him, because in hindsight, as much as he would have liked to pretend otherwise, he hadn’t been ready for any of it.

He had not been ready to see so many of his fellow knights wounded and dead.

He had not been ready to watch Kaldena turn into a monster.

He had not been ready to let Temenos face down such a dangerous threat on his own (standing there on the dais, alone, with the darkness creeping in)—and more than anything else, he had not been ready to...

He had not been ready to feel that rush of emotions, that crippling fear, the realization that everything he wanted for the future, all of the faith he had found, his guiding light, could be stolen from him so easily, that it could all be ripped away with the loss of just a single life. Perhaps that was his own fault for tying so much of himself, of what he wanted to be, to Temenos. In just a matter of seconds, with a single swing of that demonic-looking sword, Crick could have lost everything. That was the feeling that had washed over him, that sort of all-consuming despair as he had watched the blade fall. He didn’t want to think about it, but that moment kept replaying itself in his head, over and over, forcing him to consider all of the things that he could have done differently, how the situation could have been prevented, as well as the unfortunate alternative that could have so easily taken place.

Temenos was alive. He had managed to make it out alive, but...gods, what if he hadn’t...what if he hadn’t gotten out of the way in time? What if none of them had been close enough to help? Or what if Crick hadn’t been fast enough to intercept that final strike? It all could have gone so horribly wrong, and as much as he just did not want to think about it, he couldn’t stop himself, because even though the entirety of his future should not feel as though it hinged upon the survival of one man, he honestly didn’t know what he would do if...if Temenos were to...

What would he do if Temenos were to—

The sound of the door opening pulled him from his thoughts. He immediately sat up from his hunched position and ran a hand down his face, attempting to scrub the sorrow from it as he schooled his expression into something that was hopefully less guilty. In the end, however, he needn’t have bothered, because surprise quickly took the place of his melancholy as he turned towards the door.

“Ort!”

Standing in the doorway was none other than Ort, sans his armor and with bandages clearly peeking out around the collar of his shirt. With one arm wrapped around his waist, indicating that he likely had a couple of fractured or bruised ribs, he did not look like a man who should be walking around right now.

“What are you—should you even be up yet?” he asked.

“Probably not,” his friend admitted as he closed the door behind him, “but I was getting tired of just lying around, and since your apothecary friend didn’t stop me, I’m sure it’s alright.”

Crick wasn’t entirely convinced of that, given his own recent experience with being injured, but if Castti really had seen Ort walking towards the room and hadn’t bothered to say anything about it, then he probably wasn’t in any danger of reopening his wounds. She definitely wouldn’t have allowed it otherwise.

The knight slowly made his way over to Crick’s chair, which he quickly tried to vacate and offer to him, only to be met with a raised hand and a shake of his head.

“That’s alright,” he assured him. “I’d rather stand. Not sure how well I’d be able to get up again if I sit down now.”

He gave his friend a wary look.

“You’re not exactly making a good case for yourself, Ort.”

He was met with a soft breath of laughter before the other man stopped next to him, placing a hand on the back of the chair to help support himself.

A moment of silence passed between them, just long enough for Crick to start searching for something to say, knowing that he needed to explain himself, to at least apologize for not somehow letting his best friend know that he was alright, that he was alive, but before he could settle on something, Ort broached the subject for him.

“I thought you were dead.”

It wasn’t an accusation. There was no blame in his voice, just a pure, simple statement that carried an undertone of relief. It helped chase away a bit of the guilt, but at the same time he was undeniably curious as to how Ort had come to that conclusion. There had been no body, after all, just a lot of blood. Why assume that Crick was dead? Why assume that the blood had belonged to him at all?

“Is that what Kaldena told everyone?” he asked.

“Not exactly. In truth, I think she was trying to keep what happened to you covered up. But there was blood in our headquarters, a trail of it that ended in a patch of snow outside, and when no one would tell me anything about it, I tried to find you to see if perhaps you knew something. I can always trust you to be honest with me, after all.”

“...But you couldn’t find me, right?”

“Right.” Ort breathed a deep sigh, and it was obvious to Crick that his disappearance had caused the other knight a good deal of distress. He probably would have felt much the same had their positions been reversed. “I looked everywhere for you—obviously except for the one place you actually were—and when I realized that you were the only knight unaccounted for, I decided to ask Kaldena once our retinue caught up with her on the road. She had left early that morning, and so I figured that if anyone might know, it would be her.”

“And she told you I was dead?”

He nodded, and Crick could feel the grip on the back of his chair tighten.

“She said that you had been murdered,” Ort replied, “and that in order to keep the people of Stormhail from panicking, they had cleared your body away before dawn. I...didn’t really know what to do at that point. To just be told that you were dead without any answers... Even though Kaldena had promised that we would investigate once our current mission was over, nothing about it sat right with me. When I asked her if she had any clue who could have done it, she just kind of looked at me and said she had a ‘pretty good idea’ and left it at that.”

Crick tried not to let it upset him; what was done was done, but...gods, how aggravating. So she had lied to everyone about what happened to him, had told those loyal to her to lie about it too, to hide the truth and claim that he was dead. Perhaps she had thought that he really was dead (her words to him yesterday had sort of implied that, after all). She would’ve had no reason to believe otherwise aside from his missing body. His wounds had been severe, beyond the ability of most healing magic, and if not for the fact that Temenos was blessed, he would’ve bled to death in the snow. And speaking of the inquisitor...

“Seeing as how the last person anyone saw me with was Temenos, I’m surprised she did not try to blame him for my murder.”

“I wouldn’t have believed her if she did.”

A bit surprised at the immediate response and the lack of any doubt in his words, Crick looked up at his friend and was greeted by an amused smile.

“Is that so surprising?” Ort asked. “While it’s true that I don’t know the inquisitor the way you do, I would like to think that you’re a fairly good judge of character when it comes to choosing friends.”

He couldn’t quite help the breath of laughter that escaped him as he returned Ort’s smile, which had obviously been the knight’s goal. Gods, he had missed this, truly. The two of them hadn’t gotten to spend much time together after being anointed, their separate duties having kept them busy, and even though he knew their reunion would be short-lived, he found himself reveling in it nonetheless.

“I’ve been told I’m too trusting,” he replied, humor coloring his own tone, “though I suppose there might be some truth to your statement.”

It earned him a flick to his shoulder from the hand resting on the back of his chair, but he simply smiled more in response. Unfortunately, that smile dimmed a bit as his eyes drifted back to the bed, to where Temenos was still sleeping. They had not been talking quietly, and yet still he remained asleep. While the cleric wasn’t exactly a light sleeper by any means, he wasn’t all that deep of one either, but he showed no signs of waking at all. Resting was a good thing though, he knew that. The only way to restore one’s spirit without consuming plums or concoctions was by getting a lot of sleep.

There was nothing to worry about. Castti had told him there was nothing to worry about.

Now if only he could convince himself of that fact.

“Crick,” Ort called, drawing him out of his thoughts once more, though it was the sudden weight to his tone that truly drew the knight’s attention. “Can I...ask you about Stormhail? You do not have to answer if it’s something you would rather not talk about, but...I would like to know what happened. I saw the blood, and...how are you still alive?”

Crick breathed a deep sigh. It was a long story, but he owed it to his friend to explain, and it’s not as if he didn’t want to tell Ort what had happened. There were a few parts that he would need to leave out (like the whole being blessed by the gods thing), but he could at least tell him the important bits.

And so, Crick told him about meeting Temenos in Stormhail, about Vados’s disappearance, about thwarting an attempt on the inquisitor’s life and finding the missing heretic dead in the snow. He told him about the secret underground archive beneath the Sacred Guard’s headquarters, about the Book of Night, and about how Kaldena had tried to kill him for sticking his nose where it didn’t belong.

...He told him how she had run him through without mercy, how he had dragged himself from the headquarters with his precious clue in hand, and how he would have surely bled to death, cold and alone, if not for Temenos and Throné.

“I still don’t know how they managed to find me. Temenos said that he awoke in the middle of the night and felt that something was wrong. It’s truly nothing short of a miracle that I survived. He was able to heal me enough to get me back to the inn where Castti treated my wounds, and they even brought me with them to Montwise when it became obvious that Stormhail was no longer safe. Honestly, I owe them my life.”

“Is that why you decided to travel with them?”

Gods, what a complicated question.

“Perhaps in part, but...there’s more to it than that.” There was a lot more to it than that. His reasons were hard to explain, mainly because there were so many of them. How was he meant to put it into words when he hardly understood the full extent of it himself? Gratitude was a part of it, yes, but Temenos had made it very clear that Crick was not in his debt, that he wouldn’t accept that way of thinking. Another part was the vow he had made, his promise both to the inquisitor and to himself that he would keep his friend safe (even if he felt like he wasn’t doing a good job of it right now). The rest of it, however, was considerably more selfish. This was simply what he wanted to do. He wanted to help Temenos, would have followed him even if the cleric had told him not to, because this was where he felt like he could make the biggest difference. He had been a part of this investigation ever since Flamechurch, and he wanted to see it through to the end. He also just...well...

He wanted to protect him. In the end, it was as simple as that. Everything else was merely a justification for that one selfish desire, because what it all truly boiled down to was that he did not want to picture a world where he could no longer stand at the inquisitor’s side. He had found a place for himself, and he would not relinquish it no matter what.

But how could he possibly explain that to Ort?

“I swore an oath to Temenos back in Flamechurch,” he began, “and I renewed it after he saved my life. I promised to protect him as a knight, and so I want to see this through with him, regardless of where it might lead me.”

“...So you won’t be returning with us to headquarters then.” It wasn’t a question, because Ort already knew the answer, but it deserved a response nonetheless.

“No. Not yet, at least. Eventually I’ll have to, because I am sure that once Kaldena’s actions are brought to light, there will be a trial for all of the Sacred Guard, but until then, I intend to remain with Temenos. There is still a lot that he and his friends must do, and I wish to be there. I want to help him. I don’t think that...”

He swallowed a bit thickly and dropped his gaze to the ground.

“I don’t think I could ever forgive myself if something were to happen to him in my absence.”

Ort didn’t say anything at first, perhaps mulling over his words, but Crick felt his friend shift next to him, the hand on the back of his chair tightening and causing it to creak. He could also feel a pair of eyes on him, boring into the side of his head, and so he looked up, curious, only to find a furrowed brow and a level of intensity being directed towards him that he hadn’t expected. It kind of looked like Ort was trying to figure out some sort of difficult puzzle, and that Crick was that puzzle, but for the life of him, he didn’t understand why. It wasn’t as if he had said or done anything out of the ordinary, right? So then why was his friend looking at him like that?

“What is it?” he asked, confused and unable to take too much more of his friend’s scrutiny, but all it earned him was an even deeper look of contemplation in return. Eventually, Ort seemed to settle on a question.

“Crick,” he began, a note of hesitation in his voice but something fairly certain in his eyes, “by any chance, are you and the inquisitor—”

Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately, depending on what Ort had been about to say), he didn’t get to hear the end of the question as the sound of shifting bed sheets and a pained groan quickly drew their attention.

He immediately looked down at Temenos and was met with a pinched expression, eyes tightly shut and the line of his mouth twisted into a grimace. He seemed to be on the verge of waking as he turned his head to the side, but when he attempted to move his right arm in his sleep-addled state, Crick quickly got out of his chair and knelt next to the bed, placing a careful hand on his shoulder.

“Temenos, don’t move,” he said urgently. “You might hurt your arm—Castti bandaged it, but your wound has not been healed yet, so please lie still.”

Two green eyes opened and squinted up at him sleepily, and it was almost ridiculous just how much relief washed over him at the sight.

“Crick?” the inquisitor asked quietly, looking as confused as he sounded.

“Yes.”

He rolled his head a bit farther to the side before sucking in a sharp breath and breathing out a barely there, barely audible, “It hurts.”

“That’s because Castti couldn’t give you anything for the pain,” he replied, trying to swallow down that choked feeling in his throat. “Just hold on a moment, alright? I’ll go find her for you.”

“I can do it.”

He paused in his attempt to get to his feet and looked up at Ort.

“Are you sure?” he asked, because Or wasn’t exactly in the best shape either and probably shouldn’t be walking around (which of course hadn’t stopped him from doing so, but there was no reason for him to push his luck).

“Yeah, it’s no trouble. I need to return to my own sickbed pretty soon anyway, before your apothecary friend decides to scold me for wandering off.”

“You said that she let you.”

“She did, but the look she gave me wasn’t exactly what I would call approving.”

With some effort, Ort made his way across the small room and to the door, offering him a smile and a small wave before opening it.

“I’ll talk to you later, Crick.”

The door closed with barely a sound, leaving Crick alone with Temenos, who was looking at him with an inquisitive, puzzled look on his face not that dissimilar to the one that Ort had been giving him earlier. The inquisitor generally didn’t look at him with that level of scrutiny, and so he was tempted to ask why he was watching him, what was on his mind, but before he could, the cleric opened his mouth and simply asked, “Are you alright?”

Given both of their current situations, he might have found the question a bit funny, but the way he had been asked, as if Temenso already believed that the answer was “no” and expected Crick to try and lie about it, bothered him.

“I am,” he replied, and then quickly followed it up with, “What would make you think otherwise?”

Those sharp eyes narrowed as that usually smooth brow furrowed.

“You...blocked a blow for me, did you not?” he asked, the words soft and slow and muddled by pain. “I thought I saw you, but...perhaps I imagined it? The end of the fight is rather...fuzzy for me, unfortunately.”

“You weren’t imagining it, but I was not hurt.” Best to put that concern to rest, because the only one that Temenos needed to be focusing on right now was himself. “Her sword never reached me, and together we were able to finish her off. Everyone is safe, Temenos, you needn’t worry. I give you my word.”

Upon being told that no one was hurt, the cleric clearly relaxed, breathing out a quiet “good” as he sighed in relief. It was followed by a soft but genuine, “Thank you, Crick,” that simultaneously caused heat to rise up his neck and something to twist in his chest.

It shouldn’t be possible to feel both pleased and undeserving at the same time, but...

“You’re welcome, Temenos.” He couldn’t help it. That was simply the way he felt. “I am just glad you’re alright.”

The door opened once again, and Crick got up from his position by the bed as Castti walked in with a bottle of medicine in one hand and a glass of water in the other. To his surprise, she was trailed by Osvald, who moved to take up a position by the wall as the apothecary went to her patient and set the glass of water down on the nightstand.

“Good morning, Temenos,” she greeted. “Ort said you were in pain, so I brought something to help. It should clear your head a bit as well.”

Without asking if he needed assistance sitting up, she simply reached down and lifted the cleric enough so that he could drink, which he did without question—a clear sign that he trusted Castti’s judgment when it came to his health, no matter how much he might complain about her mothering. The concoction was followed quickly by the glass of water, which he also accepted without question, and once he was finished, rather than allowing him to lie back down, she carefully propped him against the headboard instead.

The time for rest was over, apparently.

It was honestly amazing just how quickly some of her medicines worked as the pained lines on the inquisitor’s face began to even out, his eyes losing that pinched, hazy look as he took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“My thanks, Castti,” he said, sounding much more like himself, before he looked over at his bandaged arm. The inquisitor gave a thoughtful hum and asked, “How bad was it? I only caught a brief glimpse before passing out, but given the amount of bandages you have wrapped it in, I am guessing it was quite deep.”

“It was,” she replied, “but I was able to stop the bleeding with magic. I used a lot of bandages mostly to help keep it still so that it wouldn’t reopen.”

“Wouldn’t reopen? So then you didn’t stitch it?”

“No. I would’ve had to remove them before you could heal it. I figured this way would be faster.”

“How very thoughtful of you. Well then, I suppose there is no reason not to get on with it.”

Temenos closed his eyes in concentration, and after whispering a few words under his breath, a bright green light began to shine from him, enveloping his wounded arm. It was impossible to see the wound due to the bandages, but Crick knew that a cleric didn’t necessarily need to see a wound to heal it and that Temenos could probably feel it closing as the magic sank in. He knew from experience that it was an odd sensation, though not an unpleasant one, and while it was true that he had only been healed a handful of times in his life, he found that the inquisitor’s magic was more...soothing than others’.

Maybe he was just biased given how much he respected the man, or perhaps it was simply a part of being blessed by the Flamebringer, or perhaps Temenos’s magic, just like Temenos himself, was ultimately kind at its core. He had heard once that magic often reflected the caster, which was why some people were better at certain elements over others. He wondered how true that actually was, but even if there was no legitimacy to it at all, it was still a nice sentiment nonetheless.

When the light faded, Temenos opened his eyes and began attempting to unwrap the bandages, which Castti was quick to help with since doing so with only one hand would’ve been rather difficult. Sure enough, once all of the dressings were removed, there was no longer any sign of the injury at all, not even the slightest indication as to where exactly it had been. It was simply gone, his arm whole and healthy once more.

“No lingering pain or numbness?” asked Castti, having the inquisitor curl and flex his fingers to make sure they had their full range of motion, that all of the internal damage had been fixed as well.

“None whatsoever,” he replied. “I feel just fine, if not a bit hungry. I did miss dinner last night, after all.”

“I’ll have someone bring you something for breakfast then,” she said. “You can wait here for now if you’d like, unless you don’t mind walking around in your sleepshirt that is. Agnea’s working on stitching your robes for you, so you should have them back sometime soon.”

“I suppose I shall remain here then. While I do not particularly care how I am perceived, I should at least attempt to keep up appearances.”

Honestly, this man... Crick wanted to heave a sigh, but he knew that would only earn him an amused smile and a smug look from the inquisitor, who always found his exasperation humorous. Sometimes he wished that Temenos would behave a bit more like a normal cleric, like an inquisitor who actually respected his rank, the church, and the gods—but at the same time, Crick could admit, even if only to himself, that he didn’t really want Temenos to change at all. He wouldn’t be the same person if he did, the one who had challenged his faith, who had forced him to look at things differently, who had shown him the truth and trusted that he would do the right thing. Infuriating through he might be, he was exactly what the church needed, what Crick had needed, and he wouldn’t have him any other way.

Though it surely wouldn’t kill him to act with a bit more propriety every now and then.

“Alright,” said Castti, “then I’ll take my leave for now. I still need to check in on a few of the knights. Actually, Crick, would you mind coming with me? There was something I needed your help with.”

“Oh?” He honestly hadn’t been expecting that, but he found himself immediately intrigued by the request. There was something serious yet hard to read in her tone that made him undeniably curious, and since Temenos was alright now, there was really no reason for him to remain in the room.

(Even if he still kind of wanted to).

“Unless you’re busy, of course.”

“Not at all,” he assured her. “If you believe I can be of assistance, then I would be happy to help.” He wanted to do whatever he could.

As he began following her to the door, he stole one last glance at Temenos, whose attention had fallen to his previously wounded arm, his gaze taking on that pensive look he so often wore when something was on his mind. He wondered what he was thinking about, if he was reflecting on the battle, on Kaldena, on everything that had happened after setting foot in that dark chamber. Maybe he was thinking about the moment he had gotten injured and what had led up to it. There was a lot to unpack from their confrontation with the former captain. Hopefully he wouldn’t dwell on it too much.

In the end, things had worked out, even though they hadn’t been able to take Kaldena in alive. They had stopped her plans and prevented the Shadow from being unleashed across the land. That had to count for something, surely.

It was a worthwhile accomplishment for the holy inquisitor.

(Crick would be sure to talk to him about it later though, just in case).

“...You look disappointed.”

Temenos pulled his attention away from his freshly healed arm and glanced over at Osvald. When the man had followed Castti in, he had wondered briefly why he would be accompanying her, but it hadn’t taken him long to figure out the reason. Of course the scholar would want to discuss what had happened at the most recent opportunity, and Temenos would be lying if he said that he didn’t wish to discuss it as well. That being said, he was a bit surprised that Osvald had been able to read his expression so easily. Perhaps it was due to how much time they had been spending together lately and how the inquisitor had, on occasion, allowed some of his impatience and irritation to show.

Disappointed fit his current mood well. He could think of no better word for it, no better way to describe how he felt, because in the end, even after all that training, it...

“It wasn’t enough,” he said, looking back down at his arm, the evidence having been erased but the memory of what happened still fresh in his mind (if not a little fuzzy). “Only barely, mind you, but that doesn’t really matter. All that matters is that Kaldena—or the abomination that used to be Kaldena, anyway—managed to survive.”

“It can’t be helped,” Osvald replied with a small shrug of his shoulders as he stood there against the wall with his arms crossed. “The power of that spell is directly proportional to the amount of spirit you have, and you cannot be expected to conserve all of it during a battle.”

“I know.” He breathed out a sigh and allowed himself to slump back against the headboard. “I am fully aware that what I am attempting to do is very unconventional for a cleric. I would never neglect my responsibility to you all as a healer, of course—that is certainly not my intent. I am simply...frustrated, I suppose, to have fallen just short of success at such a terrible moment.”

“If it’s any consolation, both your casting time and your control were vastly improved. The shape of the spell was perfect, not a single crack or fracture, and the light was far more concentrated than before. While you did still lose consciousness in the end, it wasn’t immediate and only happened after you attempted to move. Had your body been allowed a moment to settle and stabilize first, I think you would’ve been fine.”

...Well now, that was quite a bit of unexpected praise from the scholar. While he had certainly wanted an evaluation of his performance, he had thought there would be more criticism rather than a list solely of his improvements. He wondered if this was Osvald’s attempt at consoling him after he had almost gotten himself killed at the end of his journey, after betting everything on a gamble that didn’t fully pay off. He still believed that it had been wroth it, because looking back, he could see no other options available to him, no other way to guarantee that everyone would walk away alive, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be disappointed at his shortsightedness, his inability to look ahead and consider every possible outcome when normally he was pretty good at that.

Still, it was nice to know that he had made progress, even if it didn’t fully take the sting out of his failure.

“I suppose that’s something, at least,” he said, allowing a small smile to grace his face. “Still, I wish there was an easier way to go about this.”

“Progress takes patience,” Osvald told him very matter-of-factly. “Magical progress even more so. However, I do have two suggestions for you, if you’re interested.”

He immediately looked over at the scholar, his curiosity piqued, especially since there was definitely a touch of satisfaction, bordering on amusement, lurking in the man’s eyes. Clearly, he already knew what the inquisitor’s response would be.

“I’m listening.”

The satisfaction became a bit more prominent as the former professor began speaking in what Throné had once referred to as his “teacher voice.” It was at those times, where the edge was gone and the words were patient, that proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that Osvald had once been an exceptional professor.

“The first is that, once we return to our ship, we go through the armory and take a look at the accessories we’ve acquired. We should be able to find something among them that can increase your spirit, since I know you don’t care much for physical training, which would be your only other option to raise your spiritual well. That way, if the boost is significant enough, you won’t have to worry so much about trying to conserve your magic during battle—you’ll be able to heal and still have enough to use Heavenly Shine effectively should the need arise.

“And then the second suggestion I have may take some work, but I’m certain it’s doable given what I’ve observed. I believe that the calculations for Advanced Magic and the enchantment itself should work with Heavenly Shine, meaning that you could cause the spell to strike twice without having to cast it an additional time. I know you were concerned about the repercussions of using it more than once in a short period, and while I can’t promise that this won’t place any additional strain on your body, I imagine it would be easier than trying to replenish your spirit in the middle of a fight. You would essentially be doubling its power for the same cost. A worthwhile endeavor, wouldn’t you say?”

Temenos simply looked at the scholar in shock for a moment as he tried to absorb all of the information he had just been given. Because despite being a relatively observant person, someone who generally looked at things from multiple different angles, he hadn’t even considered those options. At all.

“You truly believe those calculations could...” he began, his mind whirling, only for another realization to dawn halfway through. He crossed his arms over his chest, one hand rising to cup his chin as he said, “By that logic, then wouldn’t Alephan’s Wisdom, the divine blessing of the Scholarking, also work with...”

From the corner of his eye, he could see that small grin on Osvald’s face tick even further towards genuine amusement as Temenos slowly but surely lined the pieces up.

“I take it you’re interested,” he said in a tone that implied he already knew the answer. “It’s going to require some more studying. Are you up to the task?”

“Yes,” the inquisitor replied, his earlier frustration giving way to determination and perhaps even a bit of excitement at the potential that had just been presented to him. “I should have plenty of time once we are back aboard the Grand Terry. I suppose I’ll have to start thinking up some new incantations as well.”

Perhaps he could reread that story about Aelfric for some inspiration. He had sort of “borrowed” the book of scripture that he had found it in from the library (or to be more precise, Throné had borrowed it for him), and so he may as well get some use out of his purloined tome.

This was certainly starting to get interesting. He had known that Osvald would be a worthwhile ally in his magical pursuits, but the man was exceeding all of his expectations. To think that he would put so much thought into this...

For both their sakes, he would do his best not to disappoint.

But first, there was still the matter of a “scarlet moon” to deal with.

“Here you go, Temenos! I may not be as good of a tailor as Papa and Pala, but I tried my best.”

“I think you did a fine job, my dear, especially considering the mess I had made of it. You have my thanks, Agnea.”

She smiled at him, a pleased giggle escaping her as she said a brief farewell and left the room, allowing him privacy to change. Not long after he had finished eating breakfast, she had delivered his freshly washed and mended cassock to him, and he truly was impressed that she had not only gotten all of the blood out but had mended the sleeve in its entirety with a very neat line of stitches. While he did have a spare back aboard the Grand Terry, he didn’t have time to go and get it right now, and despite what he had said to Castti, he didn’t really want to traipse across the island in the shirt he primarily reserved for sleeping (though it would certainly keep him cooler than his long robes, he had to admit). Not caring about what others thought of him aside, he did wish to maintain some dignity. Especially for what he needed to do next.

Once he was fully dressed, sans his cloak for now, Temenos stepped out the door of his room and immediately found himself in the inn’s lobby, which he quickly realized had been transformed into a makeshift infirmary. He was perhaps a little impressed, and he found that the decision made a lot of sense. With seven wounded knights in need of constant care and monitoring, it was far more convenient to keep them in one location, and the only room large enough for such a thing was the lobby. There were blankets and pillows set up on the floor, along with several buckets of water, and despite the number of people present, the area was perfectly immaculate. Castti had always been very thorough in that regard since filth was often the root of many diseases, but it was still impressive just how clean everything was.

He allowed his gaze to roam the room for a moment, taking note of his companions, several of which were helping wherever they could (he tried not to smile at the sight of Ochette offering one of the knights some jerky, insisting that it would perk them right up), but before he could locate the two people he was actually looking for, his attention was quickly diverted by a gentle tug against his robes.

The cleric looked down and found a pair of big, curious eyes looking back at him, belonging to a very young beastling. If memory served (which it often did), she was the innkeeper’s daughter. He had seen her yesterday when they had spoken to the proprietress about booking rooms later if his business took too long.

What could she possibly want from him?

The answer caught him a little off guard.

“Feeling better?” she asked, her tail swishing back and forth anxiously as she continued to look up at him, seeming genuinely concerned about his wellbeing.

...He had always had a soft spot for children. When faced with such sincerity, regardless of who might be watching him, how could he not smile as something undeniably warm settled in his chest?

Temenos dropped to one knee, bringing him closer to eye level with the little girl. The beastlings were a petite people, and so he couldn’t be fully at her height without sitting on the floor, but it was good enough.

“Yes, I am feeling much better,” he replied. “I thank you for the concern, little one.”

She beamed at him, her tail wagging in the same way that Ochette’s often did when she was happy. She released her hold on his robes, but as she did, he couldn’t help but notice a small cut on her arm. It was barely more than a scratch really, probably hadn’t even bled, but he decided to ask her about it nonetheless.

“And what happened here, if you don’t mind my asking?”

He pointed to the scratch, and her smile turned a bit sheepish.

“Helping mother. Fell down,” she said. “But okay! Not hurt. Many guests. Much work. Guests important. Make welcome. Enjoy helping.”

“Well now, you are quite the diligent worker I see. How about this then? As thanks for taking such great care of us, allow me to fix this for you.”

It only took a small amount of magic, just the briefest touch to heal the wound, but the little beastling marveled at the sight of it disappearing all the same. This was probably the first time she had ever had magic used on her. That wide-eyed look of awe was incredibly endearing.

Children deserved to be innocent like this, to be able to marvel at the world around them, to take pleasure in the simple things without having to worry. He knew that several of his companions were striving for that kind of world, something bright and idealistic, filled with hope and happiness and light. He simply...wasn’t the type of person who could believe in such a thing, having seen too much of the ugly parts, the lies and the deceit and the all-consuming selfishness that would cast the entire world into shadow, that would sacrifice all for a single, spiteful end.

That being said, it did not mean that he wouldn’t do his part, that he wouldn’t try to preserve what he could of that pure-hearted innocence, those small bits of kindness that existed throughout the world. Cynical though he might be, he understood how important it was to foster compassion in those not yet tainted, who had yet to experience the cruelty and unfairness that he knew all too well.

After all, he would not have put so much effort into his paper plays, would not have agreed to weave stories out of the scripture and relay them to children if he had lost all hope in the potential for change.

“There we go,” he said as the light faded. “All healed.”

He was once again met with a beaming smile.

“Thank you!”

Unable to help himself, he placed a hand atop her head, ruffling her hair gently and earning a delighted giggle.

“Run along now, alright? And do be sure to take care of yourself as well, not just us.”

She nodded before running off, and as the inquisitor slowly got back to his feet, he scanned the room once again for the two people he had originally come out here to find. Fortunately, it didn’t take him long to spot them.

Sitting against the far wall were Crick and his friend Ort. Temenos was not at all surprised to see them together, and it would actually save him some time that they were. What did surprise him though was how the two knights, upon seeing the inquisitor turn towards them, immediately looked off to the side and tried to pretend (rather poorly, in his opinion) that they had not just been staring, and rather brazenly at that.

Such poor actors they were—they had absolutely been staring at him—and like children who had suddenly been caught doing something they shouldn’t, he could see their nerves getting the best of them as he kept the two firmly in his sights. It would seem that Crick was not the only one with an extremely honest face, but they did say that like called to like after all, so it perhaps wasn’t too strange that they were both so similar. It was no wonder then that they got along.

He could feel an amused smile tugging at his lips. Unfortunately for the two knights, he was not kind enough to let this be. How could he possibly pass up an opportunity like this? After the day he’d had yesterday, surely he deserved to have a bit of fun.

Temenos made his way across the room, becoming more and more entertained at just how adamantly they were refusing to look at him despite clearly noticing his approach. He would play along, if only for a moment.

“Ah, here you both are,” he said upon reaching them. “Just the two Godsblades I was looking for.”

That got a reaction from them, earning him one look that was curious (Ort) and one that still looked rather nervous (Crick).

“O-oh?” his little lamb asked, those blue eyes watching as he lowered himself down to the floor, much like he had with the little beastling.

“There is something I must discuss with you, as well as a favor I would ask, but first, did no one ever inform you that it is impolite to stare? Surely you must have been taught some manners, enough to know that gawking at someone, especially when that someone is doing nothing more than having a polite conversation with a child, is considered very rude, not to mention unbecoming of a knight. Honestly, to stare so brazenly like that...have you no shame?”

Temenos was certain that he would never tire of seeing that flustered look on Crick’s face.

“No, that’s not...I-I mean, I was just...um...”

Ort, it seemed, was not as easily flustered, which was probably a good thing considering his friend’s current inability to finish a sentence.

“We were just surprised is all,” he said rather diplomatically. “I didn’t know you were so good with children, Inquisitor.”

“My, my, that is quite the assumption to draw from just a single interaction. Is it truly so odd though, to warrant such staring?”

“Forgive my bluntness, but...considering your reputation, yes.”

He couldn’t help but smile at that. He had always preferred it when people were honest with him, especially when that honesty came with the added bonus of being entertaining.

Truly birds of a feather, these two young knights. He may as well give them a bit of the truth.

“I happen to like children,” he said. “I would often recite the histories to them in my spare time, though I suppose that fact is not well known outside of Flamechurch. In truth, that is probably for the best. I can’t very well have people thinking that the Sacred Flame’s inquisitor is softhearted, after all—I put a lot of work into my ‘reputation,’ as you said.”

Something in his tone must have come off as sardonic (which was what he had been aiming for, if indirectly), because he could see Ort trying not to smile at his words even as a spark of humor lit up in his eyes.

“Yes,” the knight said, and to the cleric’s surprise, he found a similar tone being echoed back at him, “I am sure it would be a tragedy for someone to accidently mistake the inquisitor as being kind.”

Temenos couldn’t help but laugh at that, undeniably amused.

“I see you are no stranger to sarcasm, in which case the two of us should get along just fine.” He had already been willing to put at least a little bit of trust into Ort, simply because he was Crick’s friend, and now after that small exchange, he felt certain that he could rely on him for what was to come next.

Reading people wasn’t too difficult when you knew what you were looking for.

“Now, I certainly didn’t come over here just to lecture you two about staring,” he said. “Let’s get down to business, shall we? First off, how do your injuries fare, Ort? What was Castti’s diagnosis?”

“Well...she said I have a few bruised ribs, and that the slash across my chest wasn’t as deep as it first seemed. As a personal bodyguard to the captain, my armor was intended to be more durable than most. I suppose that is what saved me in the end.”

“Any stitches?”

“A few, but she actually removed them not long ago.”

...Huh. In hindsight, he probably should’ve been expecting that.

“Honestly, that woman,” he said under his breath, even though he knew the two knights could still hear him. “Sometimes it feels as though she can read my mind... And about your ribs, she specifically said ‘bruised,’ not ‘broken?’”

“Yes.”

“Perfect. I should have no trouble fixing you up then.”

He was met with two pairs of wide eyes, and he couldn’t decide whether to find their surprised looks insulting or funny.

“You intend to heal me?” Ort asked him, hopeful yet skeptical, as if he hadn’t even considered such a thing to be an option. Given that they didn’t know each other too well, he could maybe understand that. The higherups in the Sacred Guard likely had not painted him in a very benevolent light.

Not that he was all that benevolent in the first place, mind you, because he wasn’t. He was definitely choosy about who and what he would heal. Ort was simply lucky that he was a friend of Crick’s, because Temenos might not have been so willing to do this otherwise.

“I do,” he replied. And then because he couldn’t help poking a little fun, he added, “Unless you would rather I not?”

“No, I...I would be grateful. Thank you, Inquisitor.”

“You shouldn’t thank me yet, as I am afraid my aid does not come for free. There is something I would ask of you in return.”

“You need only name it. I would gladly repay my debt.”

“Very well then, but first, a question, one that I would pose to the both of you. Exactly how well do you know the other six knights in this room? Were I to ask it of you, would you be able to separate the ones who were ignorant to Kaldena’s plan and those who went along with it?”

Crick and Ort looked at each other, but what passed between them was not anxiety or indecision or even surprise at the question he had asked. In fact, he could see not a single trace of disbelief or shock at all, almost as if they had been expecting it, but that didn’t make much sense, for how could they have known what he would be thinking?

“Is something wrong?” he asked, instantly becoming suspicious, and after just a bit more hesitation, Crick explained their lack of surprise.

“No,” he began carefully, “it’s just that...Castti already asked this of me.”

Temenos simply blinked at him, genuinely shocked by the admission. That was not at all what he had been expecting to hear.

“She did?” It was true that Castti was incredibly insightful, and while there were certainly some things that went over her head, she was extremely observant as well. She had to be as an apothecary, but apparently those skills extended to something like this as well.

Had she truly figured out what his intentions would be without so much as a word of discussion? Apparently he had underestimated her. She clearly understood him even better than he had thought.

“Yes,” Crick replied with a nod. “When I left your room, she pulled me aside and asked how well I knew the other knights, if I would be able to tell her for certain who we could trust. Since I was not familiar with all of them, I asked Ort to help me, but when we asked her why she wanted to know, she said she could not tell us. I chose not to pry at the time, but...now that you are the one asking, I think I understand.”

Those blue eyes met his, firm in their conviction and without judgment.

“You’ll only heal the ones who we say we can trust, right? That is why Castti asked for my help and why she already removed Ort’s stitches.”

The inquisitor could feel a smile tugging at his lips as something undeniably proud washed over him. Back when they had first met, and even when they had run into each other in Stormhail, Crick would have probably claimed that every Sanctum Knight was worth trusting, that they were all meant to be righteous and upstanding, carrying out the will of the gods. He would have balked at the idea of Temenos being choosy about who he healed, would have questioned him and perhaps even thought him callous for his unwillingness to help others if he didn’t believe they deserved it, if he did not find them worthy of his time.

That was no longer the case, it seemed. Crick had matured quite a lot from that naïve little lamb who had walked into Flamechurch so long ago, while somehow still retaining that hopeful sense of morality that the inquisitor had always admired.

He could think of no finer knight, no finer man, to have at his side.

“Bravo, Crick,” he said, the words light but the sentiment sincere. “That is indeed the case. Unlike our dear apothecary, who has sworn to heal friend and foe alike with very few exceptions, I am not nearly so generous, and she clearly realized what I intended to do upon waking. She asked you to judge your fellow knights in order to prepare for what would need to be done. I hope that the two of you were thorough in your discernment?”

“We...we were.”

Hesitation. Whether it was born from uncertainty or the fact that the task had been somewhat unsavory, he didn’t know, but he needed to find out.

“You are certain? Because you must be aware of what could happen if you are not. The risk to my own life aside, we are in a peaceful village that is home to many children and those not accustomed to combat. The beastlings have been kind to us, and I will not reward that kindness with a blade in their backs. If a single one of these knights were to bring harm against these people, then you must be prepared to face the consequences for that.”

He wasn’t trying to be cruel, only realistic, but those solemn looks made him wonder if he should’ve perhaps worded it a bit better.

It was Ort who spoke up this time.

“If you’re concerned about betrayal, then would it not be safer to heal no one? To simply let them recover without magic?”

“It would, yes, but I am afraid that is not an option. The Night of the Scarlet Moon is approaching, which leads me to the favor I mentioned earlier.”

“The Night of the Scarlet Moon?”

“Yes. It is a phenomenon that occurs on the island once every four hundred years, and the next one will take place tomorrow night. In truth, we know little about it, aside from the fact that it brings forth calamity, and while the nine of us will be making our way to the other side of Toto’haha to assist Ochette’s village, it was my intention to request that you and the other knights defend this one. After all, you lot owe us a few debts, do you not? Consider this not just the repayment for my aid but also for the hospitality that the beastlings have shown us. It is by their grace that you are all resting comfortably right now.”

Ort didn’t say anything at first, merely stared at him, almost as if he couldn’t quite believe what had just come out of his mouth. There was hope there, however, as well as something he had become rather familiar with as of late: that steely look of determination, a desire to protect others even above oneself.

“I accept, Inquisitor,” he said, the solemness of the vow offset by the small, lopsided smile slowly growing on his face. “I am certain that the others will as well. It is a knight’s responsibility to protect others, especially those who cannot protect themselves. I swear that no harm shall befall this village. You have my word.”

“Then I will entrust you with this matter.” And because he couldn’t help himself, because he felt like he should, he added, “If only every Sanctum Knight were as earnest as the two of you, then I would have no reason to worry. Perhaps someday, that will be the case.”

Hope did not come easily to him, due to the fact that he had been burned by it too many times to count, but surely there was nothing wrong with a bit of optimism when faced with such promising resolve.

A deal now made and a promise received, Temenos clasped his hands, closed his eyes, and prayed.

A basic healing spell would not be enough to heal everything, so Prayer for Plenty it was.

The inquisitor gathered his magic and quietly stated, “Fear not, I will keep you from harm,” watching behind closed lids as light began to shine brightly beyond them, healing within seconds what many other clerics could not. He’d had very few opportunities to use this spell at its fullest, seeing as how his friends rarely became injured beyond what a normal healing spell could fix, but he had still practiced with it whenever he could, fearing in the back of his mind that a day would eventually come when such a spell would truly be needed.

Then Stormhail had happened, and for the first time since he had stood before that altar at Borderfall, Temenos had found himself genuinely grateful to have been blessed by a god. If it meant being able to keep Crick alive, to keep his self-sworn Godsbalde at his side, then he would do whatever was required of him as Aelfric’s chosen. He would do a great deal for his wayward little lamb.

When the light faded, his spell coming to an end, the inquisitor opened his eyes. He found himself met with two not so different reactions, yet they were somehow distinctly dissimilar all the same. Ort was looking down at himself, flexing his left hand and rotating his shoulder, clearly marveling at the fact that all of his pain was gone, that not even the lingering feeling of discomfort remained. No more bruised ribs, no more slash across his chest; Prayer for Plenty had taken all of that away.

It was understandable that he would be surprised. Few had ever had the pleasure of being healed by such a spell.

Ort’s reaction was expected—but then of course there was Crick, who...

Who was staring at him again, openly and unabashed with a quiet look of awe in his eyes, as if he had never seen a healing spell before, as if he had never seen Temenos use magic before, as if the sight before him was something new, something reverent, and the inquisitor did...not know what to do with that, if he were being honest, because people generally didn’t look at him in that way. A part of him wanted it to continue, another part wanted it to stop. He almost felt...warm under the appreciation, the admiration, and so he cleared his throat, looked to the side, and tried to pretend that he hadn’t seen anything. It would be less awkward that way.

Briefly, he wondered if something might be wrong with him. He’d felt no desire to call Crick out on his staring this time, to watch him blush and become flustered as he either tried to claim that he hadn’t been gawking or attempted to justify his reason. Maybe all the stress from the previous day was still wearing on him, thus resulting in him not wishing to tease his little lamb. Surely that must be the case.

Surely.

“Incredible,” he heard Ort say. “My wounds feel as though they are completely gone.”

“They are completely gone,” he replied, silently thanking Ort for providing him with a distraction from his thoughts. “That was the point. My ability to heal is quite potent when I concentrate. I need you in fighting shape, after all, if you are to defend this village. I will be putting you in charge of this, Ort. I assume you hold the highest rank out of the knights here, but even if you do not, you are the only one I am willing to trust with this.”

“And I accept the responsibility gladly. I won’t let you down, Inquisitor.”

“You needn’t keep using my title, you know. While I appreciate the show of deference, I am more accustomed to being called by name. I only fall back on formality when it suits me, you see.”

“I’ll...try to remember that.”

With a smile, the inquisitor got to his feet and motioned for the two knights to join him.

“Come, let’s get to work, shall we? We’ve much left to do this morning.” That, unfortunately, was not an understatement, because not only did he need to heal those who had been deemed trustworthy, but Castti would need to fully stabilize the ones who weren’t (she would never leave these men untreated after all, and Temenos would never ask it of her). Then it would be a matter of packing up and saying their farewells before the nine of them took off for Beasting Village. If they left by midday, they should arrive around the same time tomorrow, which would give them the entire afternoon to prepare for whatever would befall them that night.

Hopefully it would not be too daunting, but something told him that he shouldn’t hold his breath. The word “calamity” was not one to throw around lightly, and so they needed to prepare for the worst. Regardless, they would help to protect the island, the place their dear hunter called home, and once it was over, once everyone was safe, they would venture onward and sail towards their next goal.

There really was so much left to do yet, not just for his friends but for himself as well. He had testimonies to collect, reports to write, and an entire establishment to demolish—not to mention a godlike spell to master and all of the mysteries he still needed to solve. The work of an inquisitor was never done, it seemed, and while he did sort of miss those leisurely days of reciting the histories, of performing his paper plays, in truth he...well...

He would truly have it no other way.

Chapter Text

They would be arriving in Beasting Village soon.

Despite the threat looming over them, one that would make itself known that night, Crick was looking forward to seeing more of Toto’haha and the place that Ochette called home. From the beginning, the young hunter had been very forthcoming with information about her quest and had told him quite a few stories about her village. It was obvious from the way she spoke that she loved the island, loved her people, and her positive energy was downright contagious sometimes. It didn’t feel like they were walking towards some great battle but simply visiting a friend’s home, and he wasn’t entirely sure what to think about that. On one hand, it was nice not to be constantly on edge, but on the other, complacency was dangerous. It wouldn’t do to get too relaxed with a calamity looming on the horizon.

He wondered just what the Night of the Scarlet Moon would entail. The word “calamity” could mean a great many things. Would it be a natural disaster, some sort of monster, a whole horde of monsters, or maybe something otherworldly? Given that Ochette had been tasked with seeking out three creatures of legend that had been revered as guardian deities over the years, the phenomenon was sure to be dangerous. He hoped that Ort and the other knights would be alright, that they could manage the situation on their own. There were some talented hunters amongst the beastlings as well, but unlike their group of nine, there was no one well-versed in magic. They had no healer, although Castti had left them with several concoctions just in case. She had also done everything she could for all seven of his fellow knights before departing.

Even though not all of them had been deemed trustworthy in the end.

It...left a bad taste in his mouth, honestly, the fact that he could not say with certainty that all of them could be trusted, that a couple may have been aware of Kaldena’s intentions even if they hadn’t been aware of what would happen to them in the process. The three who hadn’t been with Ort, their testimony was...disturbing, to say the least. It turned out that Temenos had been right; they had indeed turned their blades on each other, driven mad by the darkness that Kaldena had released. One of them had even broken down into tears while explaining, and Crick had felt somewhat sick listening to the tale, how all of a sudden his comrade had drawn his sword and struck him down without a second thought.

It was a terrifying thing to face betrayal where you didn’t expect it.

Temenos, on the other hand, hadn’t seemed fazed by the story at all. He had just listened to everything patiently, asking basic questions, with that placid mask upon his face. That didn’t mean that he didn’t care, however—far from it, in fact. He knew that the inquisitor was simply good at remaining calm, at putting up an unaffected front, but it was still impressive in a sense how he could pretend to be indifferent even when faced with something as horrific as all that. It was a necessity though, considering the situation he had been placed in, dealing with the remnants of Kaldena’s machinations, but at the same time it had made Crick realize that there really were some things about Temenos that he might never fully understand.

While speaking to Castti, the cleric had claimed not to care about how others perceived him, and yet he had specifically told Ort that he couldn’t have people thinking that he was softhearted, that he had put a lot of work into his “reputation,” so to speak. The confusing part was that both sentiments were true, despite their contradiction, because that was just the way that Temenos was. Over the years (even though Crick had been unaware of it at the time the two of them met) he had created a reputation for himself of being unflappable, of doing things his own way, of showing no respect for the Sacred Guard and generally being difficult to work with.

As the inquisitor, he didn’t want to be seen as “kind,” even though it was his predecessor’s incredible kindness that had inspired Crick to become a Sanctum Knight, to pull himself from his family’s shadow and do something good with his life. They were so different in that regard, how Roi had acted upon his kind nature while Temenos chose to hide his. It was confusing, and he didn’t particularly like it. The way that so many of the knights at headquarters had spoken about him, no doubt having heard stories from their seniors and choosing to take their words as fact, had bothered him. It had bothered him a lot. It actually bothered him even more now, knowing what he did about the Sacred Guard and about how determined Temenos was when it came to finding the truth. He had nearly died for it, after all—how many of his fellow knights would be willing to do the same?

It wasn’t fair. So much of it had been and still was annoyingly unfair.

He wished that there was something he could do about it (even though he was pretty sure the inquisitor didn’t want anything to be done about it). Perhaps once everything was over, he would find a way.

“...Goodness, that is quite the look of consternation on your face, little lamb. What exactly are you thinking about that would warrant such an expression?”

He answered without thinking.

“You.”

And then immediately regretted it.

Thank the gods they were traveling at the back of the group, out of earshot of everyone except for maybe Ochette and Mahina who both had exceptional hearing (though the sudden tilt of Throné’s head made him fear that she might have heard him too).

This was the price he paid for getting lost in thought instead of paying attention—he should have taken a moment to actually think instead of just blurting out the first thing that crossed his mind. He panicked, his thoughts coming to an abrupt halt, but rather than tripping over his words, which would probably only make things worse, he kept his mouth shut and looked over at the inquisitor to gauge his reaction.

Those sharp eyes were definitely wide, and he watched as the cleric opened his mouth as if to say something only to close it. Apparently that bit of unintended (and clearly unexpected) honesty had rendered him temporarily speechless.

It didn’t last (it never did), but despite regaining his ability to speak, Temenos still seemed a little lost. Crick might have counted that as an accomplishment under different circumstances, but his own embarrassment prevented him from feeling anything other than mortified.

“I...well,” began Temenos as he cleared his throat. “I am genuinely not sure if I should be flattered by that or concerned. I do not recall doing anything as of late to warrant your irritation.”

“I’m not—”

He was about to deny it, to try and clear up what was obviously a misunderstanding, but...in reality Crick was actually kind of irritated, though not because of anything that Temenos had done directly. Not really. Aside from the fact that he insisted on pretending that he wasn’t as kind as he was, which wasn’t any of Crick’s business. It was one thing to call Temenos out for his unscrupulous behavior from time to time, but it was another thing entirely to poke at the fabric of what made him him. Or at least the him that he wanted to present to the world, because the truth was a great deal more nuanced than that. Crick had learned rather quickly from that first day spent together in Flamechurch that he could not judge this man against any sort of normal standard, that Temenos would always find a way to exceed his expectations for better or for worse.

That was simply the way he was. The façade shouldn’t bother him. It shouldn’t. He should simply be happy that the inquisitor trusted him enough to let him see beyond the mask on occasion, that what had been shared in Stormhail was not a one-time occurrence. He should be grateful for the bits of honesty, for each tiny moment of sincerity—and he was, he genuinely was, but...

But the whole thing still bothered him.

The knight took a deep breath and let it out slowly, collecting himself before explaining.

“I’m not mad at you or anything, Temenos. I was just...thinking about what you said to Ort back in the village.”

“I’m afraid you will have to be more specific, Crick. I said quite a few things to Ort.”

“The part about your...” Gods, it seemed that he really was doing this. For whatever reason, he could not simply let it go. “...Reputation. You had told Castti that you don’t care what people think of you, but you told Ort that you have put a lot of work into your ‘reputation.’ You don’t want to be seen as kind even though you are, and I...guess I don’t entirely understand why.”

“...You consider me kind?”

The words were so quiet he wasn’t entirely sure if Temenos had even said them, and when he looked at the inquisitor, any hint of uncertainty or vulnerability was quickly shoved behind an amused smile.

“The answer is actually quite simple, Crick,” he said in a far more jovial tone, accompanied by that wry grin. “It is simply a matter of what does or does not benefit me as the inquisitor. I care little for how people perceive me unless that perception could potentially interfere with my job. And for the record, it is not merely for my own sake that I maintain a certain level of indifference, though it is true that I am naturally inclined that way, so I’ll admit that it does come rather easily to me.”

Some of the amusement fell away as those green eyes drifted towards the ground, and while he might have been imagining it, the look that crossed his face almost seemed a touch sad.

“As the inquisitor,” he continued, “I have made my fair share of enemies, and with the coming trials I am likely to make several more. I generally have never had a problem defending myself, but what do you think would happen if, for example, word were to get out that I am fond of children, that I perform paper plays for them in my spare time? Surely you are familiar with ‘hostage situations,’ seeing as how you ended up dealing with one during your first assignment? Though I was in no danger, I am certain it did not seem that way to you.”

“It didn’t.” And if he was ever put in that kind of situation again, he honestly wasn’t sure what he would do.

“And so there you have it, the answer to your question. There is a line I must draw between who I am as a person and who I am as an inquisitor—though I suppose for someone like yourself who has no need to put on airs, who is as noble a knight as he is a person, I can perhaps see how it would be confusing.”

...There was a compliment there, hidden within the rest of his words. Temenos so often did things like that, such as calling his goals lovely but naïve or claiming that his morality made him honest but to his own detriment. He didn’t really mind all that much, truth be told, and this time something very close to pride, something that was undeniably happy began to swell in his chest at being called “noble,” because that was what he had been striving for ever since he had left home to become a knight.

Hearing the inquisitor say something like that...it made him feel like all of the hardships he had endured throughout his life had been worth it.

“However,” Temenos continued, “if you really think about it, my reputation is actually not that far off from the truth. I am indeed an unrelenting, stubborn person who can be difficult to deal with and will do whatever I must to achieve the outcome I want. I think that’s an apt description. At the very least it makes me sound more intimidating than my appearance would suggest.”

“What it actually makes you sound is annoying, Detective.”

Crick almost startled at the sound of that smooth voice as it sliced cleanly through the conversation, and he watched as those sharp green eyes shot over to the dark-haired thief walking a good distance in front of them.

“You wound me, my dear Throné,” he said (he did not sound “wounded” in the slightest). “Also, I do not recall asking for your opinion on the matter.”

She simply waved off his comment, clearly not caring that her opinion had been unasked for, and from the place next to her, Crick heard a distinct giggle come from Agnea, who was obviously amused by her friends’ antics.

The knight wondered just how much of their conversation she had overheard, which then led him to wondering just how many of them might have overheard it. With his luck, probably all of them. That was a somewhat embarrassing thought; he really needed to take more care in the future with what he said and where he said it if he didn’t want other people listening in. Amidst such a large group, there probably wasn’t a lot of privacy. That was also probably why the eight of them were as comfortable with each other as they seemed. Hopefully he would get used to it eventually.

He very much wanted to get used to it.

“Anyway,” Temenos began, giving his attention back to Crick, “has your curiosity been sated now, little lamb?”

“Yes.” At the very least, he had a better understanding of the confusing, contrary man that he had chosen to follow. He was also starting to realize just how much weight there was when it came to being a part of the Inquisition, how much consideration had to be given to one’s actions. When it was your job to judge and condemn others, it was only natural that you would end up being judged and condemned yourself, even if you were ultimately the one in the right. That was simply how people were, unfortunately, and that meant that an inquisitor had to be ready to deal with those who were dissatisfied with their actions, whether it meant enduring barbed insults, animosity, or in the worst-case scenario an attempt against their life.

Temenos could technically take care of himself, he had for the past five years of being the inquisitor, but Crick was all the more certain now that this was where he was supposed to be. He was the inquisitor’s Godsblade, and he would wear that title proudly.

He would not be returning to the Sacred Guard.

“Look! It’s just up ahead!” he heard Ochette shout, drawing not only his but everyone’s attention to the tree line that had been steadily getting closer. “Once we enter the forest, it’s just a short walk to Beasting Village. I can’t wait to see everyone again and introduce you all! I sure hope they’ve been eating enough.”

“Is that why we’ve got this big ol’ bag o’ jerky with us?” asked Partitio, who was the one carrying said bag of jerky. Ochette had dragged it with them all the way to the Nameless Village, even sharing some with the villagers there as thanks for all their help. Apparently she had been preparing jerky all throughout their journey with the intention of bringing a good portion of it back home. Talk about an interesting souvenir, though he couldn’t help but feel that for a hunter (and especially for Ochette) it made a lot of sense.

“Yep!” she replied happily. “There’s no better present for us beastlings than a gift of meat. I’m sure they’ll all love it!”

Crick could feel himself smiling at the excitement in her tone (seriously, contagious) as they continued walking, the bright sun overhead becoming partially blocked out by the tall trees as they got closer and closer to Ochette’s village. Toto’haha really was a fascinating place with beautiful beaches, a tropical jungle, and now on this end a dense, vivid green forest. While the Leaflands were also known for their forests, there was just something very...special about the island, the way it felt sort of magical and ancient, and considering all of the ruins they had seen, that could very likely be the case. There was a lot of history hidden away here, and he wondered if the humans who had chosen to settle on the island had originally come for that reason or if they had simply liked the idea of living in a tropical paradise.

While the heat was a bit too much for him personally, he certainly wouldn’t mind spending some time on Toto’haha just to enjoy the view. Hopefully whatever awaited them later that night was something they would be able to deal with, because he didn’t want to think about anything terrible befalling such a beautiful place.

The Night of the Scarlet Moon was only half a day away.

He prayed with everything he had that they would be ready for it.

“I’m back, everyone!”

At the sound of Ochette’s voice, all of the beastlings that had been standing near the front of the village immediately turned, their eyes widening as their ears perked up. With smiles on their faces, they all ran up to her, and if they were at all apprehensive about the group of eight humans standing behind her, they certainly didn’t show it.

Temenos marveled at the sight. While most humans were not at all accustomed to seeing beastlings, the opposite was obviously not true. With a human village located so close to their own, however, he supposed he could understand why.

“Ochette!”

“Ochette! Welcome back!”

One of the younger ones moved forward, eyes gleaming, and asked, “Bringing presents?”

The inquisitor hid an amused smile behind his hand.

“You bet! I made all kinds of jerky while I was off-island! You wouldn’t believe some of the beasts I saw and the food I tried! There are so many yummy things in the world!”

Those looks of awe and excitement made it all the harder to hide his grin, and he could see that the rest of his companions weren’t faring much better. Even Osvald’s expression could almost be considered fond as they all watched the scene before them.

Ochette motioned to Partitio, who walked over and set the bag down that he had been carrying for the past few hours, revealing all of the tasty treats inside. Their young hunter really had made a ridiculous amount of jerky, but considering just how much she could eat, it would probably only serve as a single meal or perhaps even just a snack to the beastlings of her village. He had no idea how many of them there were in total, but if they all had appetites like Ochette, it was kind of a surprise that there were any monsters or beasts left in the forest at all. Perhaps Ochette was just an exception, like she was in many cases.

After all, out of all the beastlings, she seemed to be the only one with a firm grasp on human speech, which made him curious as to the reason. Either she had simply picked it up faster than the rest or someone had specifically taught her. His money was on the latter, given that he knew she had a master who had taught her the bow. He was looking forward to finally meeting the famed “Master Juvah” that she had spoken about quite regularly on their travels.

As the villagers all moved forward to partake in the jerky, one of them finally did what Temenos had been expecting from the moment they all entered the village, her gaze rising and slowly drifting over the lot of them as something a touch curious, a touch apprehensive flickered across her face.

“Humans, Ochette?” she asked. “From village? Smell new.”

“Oh, these are my friends! I met them while I was travelling. They’re all really nice, and they helped me out on my journey. They’re going to help us protect the island too!”

“New friends? Welcome, welcome!”

“Come, eat! Jerky, jerky!”

Seriously, they were all far too endearing, and he watched as Throné and Agnea sat down after being offered food, with the thief’s eyes drifting to those fluffy, swishing tails as the beastlings happily shared their presents with the group of humans as if it were the most natural gesture in the world. His dear assistant had been caught trying to touch Ochette’s tail before, only for the hunter to say it was fine, because one of the first things he had learned about Throné was that she not only had a weakness for children and animals but also anything that was fluffy and cute.

An assassin with the heart of a young girl, who had been deprived of all the things that most young girls would have been given in their youth. That was probably why she generally ended up too embarrassed to act on a lot of her wants. With her newfound freedom, however, he hoped that would slowly change. In his opinion, there was nothing wrong with reliving one’s childhood, or in this case simply living out a childhood that she had never gotten to have.

Within reason, of course, though he honestly doubted that too many of the beastlings would be opposed to being hugged. Ochette certainly wasn’t shy when it came to affection, that was for sure.

“It’s good to see everyone getting along,” said the hunter, drawing him out of his thoughts. “Food always tastes better when shared with friends. I’ve got to be sure to bring some to Master Juvah too. I wonder where he is...”

What she said next had Temenos once again hiding a smile behind his hand as well as muffling the laughter that bubbled up his throat.

“Hey everyone, is Master Juvah still kicking?”

No tact, that one, but he rather liked that about her. He heard a snort of laughter come from Partitio and Throné, a slight gasp from Agnea, an admonishment of “Ochette!” from Castti, and looks of surprise from everyone else. Crick’s eyes were so wide that the inquisitor almost gave up on holding back his amusement. It was a very near thing.

The beastlings, however, didn’t seem surprised at all, as if that was a perfectly acceptable way to inquire about one’s health. They all nodded, their grins bright.

“Living. Healthy.”

“Long wait. Your return.”

“Really? Heh heh... I’d better go visit him then. Let’s go, Mahina!” She then turned to the rest of them and said, “You guys wait here. There’s some stuff I need to explain to Master Juvah. Make sure you all eat something, okay? I’ll be back soon!”

And with that, she ran off, heading up the winding stairway and into the village.

Temenos looked to see that Hikari and Partitio had joined Agnea and Throné, sitting on the ground and eating together with the beastlings. There was little point in trying to do anything else, he supposed, and it was true that none of them had eaten lunch yet. While he would not classify an actual “meal” to consist of just meat, there was probably no harm in it, and they could always eat something a bit more substantial for dinner instead.

He looked to Osvald, Castti, and Crick with a smile.

“Shall we join them?”

Which was how all eight of them found themselves sitting on the grass and eating jerky with the beastlings. It was rather good, he had to admit. Ochette really was a master when it came to preparing meat.

...It only took maybe twenty minutes or so before their young hunter was bounding back down the stairs with Mahina at her back, a grin on her face, and a rather large white lion walking behind her. Temenos had honestly thought that she would be gone longer, but then again, he wasn’t all that surprised. Ochette was not the type to beat around the bush and had probably just told her master everything outright that she had deemed important. He could still remember her walking through Crackridge and simply asking people about Tera, stating her intention to bring it home without any concern as to how such an action would be viewed. She truly was one of a kind, their dear hunter.

“These are the friends I told you about, Master Juvah,” she said as soon as she had made it back to the front of the village, gesturing to all of them with a flourish of her arm and pride in her voice. “We’ve all been helping each other out on our journeys. Without them, I don’t know if I would have made it back in time.”

So, this was the infamous Master Juvah. He stopped next to his apprentice and observed them all with a calm look upon his face. This beast was known as the Warden of the Isle, was someone who safeguarded the village from danger and had trained Ochette to be a hunter in order to one day inherit the role of guardian from him. She really had told them all sorts of stories, but some of those stories had carried the implication that Juvah was not all that fond of humans, that he had gotten into arguments before with the head of the human village that was literally just a short walk away.

“I don’t think Cohazeh is a bad person or anything, she just has an obsession with ‘territory’ is all. I mean, she was worried about a little girl who got lost, so she obviously cares about her people. She’s just stubborn like Master Juvah is. I hope they can learn to get along someday.”

It would be nice, wouldn’t it, for the two species to live together in peace. There was a great deal they could learn from each other, after all.

Those dark blue eyes, catlike and wise, swept over them all one more time before Juvah sat down on the grass with his head held high.

“Greetings, humans,” he said, and while the inquisitor had known that the warden beast could actually speak, it still managed to catch him off guard. He saw several of the others flinch a bit in surprise as well at the odd sight, and he immediately began to wonder where Juvah had learned to speak, if someone had taught him just as he had taught Ochette or if he had learned on his own. Perhaps he could inquire about it later once the coming night was over. “I understand that you have come to aid us. You have my thanks.”

“Not at all,” said Castti, ever the humble, diplomatic one. “We’re happy to help. Just let us know what we can do.”

“Currently we are attempting to build fortifications to the west. If we are attacked, that is the easiest place to hold our ground without risking our home. If we can hold the enemy there, then we should be able to protect the village.”

Building fortifications... So, manual labor then. He should have guessed as much.

“If you are finished eating, then please come with me.”

And so, they yet again found themselves trekking through the wilderness, marveling at the vast forest spread out before them. He could see Osvald and Throné eying even more ruins, and he knew that once everything was over, the two of them would probably want to explore a bit, which was just another reason why they needed to be successful here and protect Toto’haha from whatever monstrosities the scarlet moon would bring. They still knew very little about the phenomenon, and as they made their way to the western part of the island, Ochette took it upon herself to ask her teacher the question that was clearly on everyone’s mind.

“Master Juvah,” she began carefully, “I know it’s...kind of a bit late to be asking this, but...what exactly is a ‘Night of the Scarlet Moon?’”

Juvah gave a soft, rumbling hum of consideration before he slowly explained what he knew of the phenomenon.

“The Night of the Scarlet Moon comes once every four hundred years,” he said, starting with the one fact they already knew and easing into the rest. “Moon and sun cross paths in the sky. World crosses paths with world, and calamity comes to the island. So it was told to me and those before me.”

“So...what does all of that mean, exactly?”

“No one living knows. The last Scarlet Moon was centuries ago. But our ancestors knew and made sure to warn us. Generation after generation, the Warden of the Isle has kept the faith. We are bound to protect the island from the calamity.”

“But what kind of calamity is it?”

Juvah hung his head and breathed a deep sigh.

“The Shadow,” he said, and with just that single word, the inquisitor’s blood ran cold. In fact, he was pretty sure that everyone’s blood ran cold as he saw their attention shift, their expressions falling as worry and uncertainty settled over the group. Even Ochette tensed, the one who generally didn’t let things bother her, but after two encounters with the encroaching darkness, it seemed that she wasn’t immune to the potential threat it posed either. Why did everything have to lead back to that otherworldly force? Just what was it anyway? Kaldena had told him, and her explanation did sound familiar, but for some reason he couldn’t quite wrap his head around what exactly it was or where it had come from. It existed all throughout the world, she had said.

They needed more information.

“The Shadow again...” Ochette sighed as she crossed her arms over her chest. “It just keeps popping up.”

“Again?” Juvah asked, sounding surprised as he looked over at his apprentice with slightly widened eyes. “What do you mean by ‘again,’ Ochette? Have you...encountered the Shadow before?”

“Oh, uh...yeah, twice now,” she said as she rubbed the back of her head sheepishly. “Do you remember when I told you earlier that there was some stuff we needed to talk about? Well, you see...”

It took the rest of their trip through the forest to explain everything to Juvah, especially since Ochette had a habit of jumping around a lot in her stories. Eventually though, they managed to tell him about their encounters, about the fact that the Shadow’s resting place existed on the far side of the island where the Nameless Village resided. His apprentice also told him about what they had learned from Shirlutto, about how the beastlings had been created by D’arqest, which he had not in fact been aware of.

It was a lot to process, and yet he did so with all the grace and understanding of one who had lived for many years and had seen a great deal of things. A wisdom born from experience.

“I see that you have learned much in your time away, Ochette,” he said as they finally emerged from the forest and into the clearing, one that was surrounded by sheer rockfaces where several beastlings were working to create wooden barricades and walls, the kinds that one could hide behind and shoot arrows from. This was to be their battlefield. “While I do not know much, I will tell you all what has been passed down by my forebearers. The truth is that our world is not the only world. There is another, a world we know not. It is believed that the Shadow is of that world. It is a force that is all-devouring—it swallows the light from which our world is woven. And the gateway to it is said to be somewhere on this island. Whether or not that gateway is indeed the rifted rock, where its power was laid to rest, I cannot say. It is always possible that more than one gateway exists, that it truly does lie in places around the world. All I can say for certain is that it will descend upon the island tonight, when the moon turns red, and we must be ready for it.”

“We will be,” said Ochette, looking as confident as ever. “We’ve already bested it twice, and those were some tough battles. We’ve definitely got a worthy opponent on our hands, Master Juvah!”

Temenos heard Castti sigh next to him, a reprimand probably on the tip of her tongue, but he personally found her attitude over the matter refreshing—as did Juvah, apparently, as the warden beast released a hearty laugh at her enthusiasm.

“Ha ha! That’s the spirit. You truly have not changed, my apprentice, and in this case, I find myself grateful for that.”

The hunter smiled brightly, clearly happy about the praise, and Temenos found that he quite agreed with the sentiment. Ochette’s positivity was an admirable thing, capable of inspiring others. Many of them had found themselves being cheered up by the bright, spirited girl, himself included.

(He still had the picture she had drawn for him in the Fellsun Ruins, tucked safely away in his desk drawer aboard the Grand Terry. Even now, it tended to make him feel better whenever he looked at it).

“Now come along, all of you,” said Juvah as he motioned for them to follow to where several barricades still needed to be built. “We must do all we can to prepare for the coming night. I shall leave the construction of these fortifications to you.”

“You got it!” said Partitio, already rolling up his sleeves. “We’ll have these things put together in no time!”

Apparently, “no time” actually translated into “several hours,” because they had only managed to finish two fortifications before it was time for dinner with two more left to go. Part of the reason was because it wouldn’t do to wear themselves out before what was expected to be a rather long battle, so they were taking their time to ensure that no one overdid it or injured themselves. The other part was because not all of them were technically “working.”

Agnea, for example, had been dragged away by Ochette to sing for the villagers, creating a catchy song that everyone had been humming along to for most of the afternoon. He wondered if the beastlings had any sort of music culture of their own, because if they didn’t, they probably would after this. Agnea was an incredible performer with an infectious energy as she twirled and sang and inspired. He supposed that her “work” was just as important as theirs, in a sense, because positivity truly did go a long way during a fight. Most of the beastlings weren’t fighters by nature, so any boost to their morale, anything that could help calm their fears, was a true asset in this situation.

Even if Temenos found it just a tiny bit unfair.

“I am truly not made for this sort of work,” he said as he leaned against the partially constructed wooden barrier and took a much-needed drink of water.

“So you have mentioned,” replied Crick, who had abandoned his cloak and most of his armor in order to avoid roasting to death in the tropical clime. “Exercise is good for you, Temenos.”

“This is more than just ‘exercise,’ little lamb.”

“You could have chosen to do something else.”

“I fear there is little ‘else’ I could have done. After all, I certainly could not do what Agnea is doing, though I must admit I am a bit jealous of her designated job. Thankfully, that should be the last of the logs required, meaning that I can finally take a break.”

The sigh those words earned him from his dear Godsblade had the inquisitor smiling, but in truth he really was rather tired. It was not simply an act or an attempt to get out of doing any more physical labor. Besides, their work was almost done, so surely his meager strength was no longer required. It would be far better for everyone if he rested so that he would be in decent shape for the calamity to come.

He wondered what they would face, what form the Shadow would take this time. How would it manifest itself once the moon turned crimson?

Would the battle take all night? Hopefully not. How were they meant to hold out for that long without sleep? Then again, there had been several nights over the past five years where he hadn’t gotten much sleep, if any, and most of the time it hadn’t hindered him too much. While he generally didn’t remain awake for a full day by choice, he could see no reason that it wouldn’t work out.

Maybe he could ask Castti for a concoction, if worst came to worst, though he honestly doubted that she would give him one even under these circumstances. She wasn’t exactly a fan of the way people sometimes pushed their bodies beyond their limits (although he was certain that she had probably done so quite regularly herself). In fact, rather than any sort of stimulant, she had offered him slumber sage more times than he cared to count over the course of their journey, because as much as he would’ve liked to keep his problems a secret, his poor sleeping habits had turned out to be rather difficult to hide. That was just the way things worked when you shared rooms together at an inn. Someone had been bound to notice eventually.

...He wondered if things would get better, if the dreams would finally come to a stop now that he had put so many ghosts to rest, now that he had unearthed the truth and pried it from the Sacred Guard’s hands. Hopefully that would be the case.

Somehow he doubted it. Not surprising, really. After all, that was what he—

“Temenos? Temenos.”

He was pulled from his thoughts only to find a hand waving in front of his face.

The inquisitor looked up at his Godsblade with a quirked brow and asked, “Yes?”

Normally Crick didn’t bother him while he was thinking; he usually just waited until he was done. But there was a somewhat worried look on the knight’s face as he glanced at a point behind their wooden palisade and motioned for the inquisitor to take a look.

Temenos got to his feet and peered carefully over the top only to see a group of people, of humans, making their way across the area to where Ochette, Mahina, and Juvah were waiting. They were led by a rather intimidating looking woman with dark hair and dark eyes, who had a certain air of both elegance and condescension about her. The smile she wore was friendly but false, a mere act, an attempt to placate, and her words when she spoke proved his earlier observation true beyond a doubt.

He could practically feel his little lamb bristling next to him.

“You’re really putting your backs into this work, my animal friends,” she said, her voice smooth yet subtly barbed at the same time as she looked around at their fortifications. “Why all the weaponry? Are you preparing to hunt?”

“Oh, great...” he heard Ochette say, and whether she had meant for the words to be under her breath or not, he didn’t know, but he found himself smiling at them regardless. “Just what we need.”

The humans moved closer as Juvah took the few remaining steps towards his apprentice.

“Cohazeh,” he said, her name practically a put-upon sigh, and while Temenos had been fairly certain of who she was, it was nice to have confirmation.

So this was the chief of the human village neighboring Ochette’s. She certainly gave off the presence of a leader, that was for sure. He couldn’t help but wonder what she was doing here seeing as how dusk was beginning to approach. The sun and moon would cross paths soon, and the coming calamity aside, it wasn’t very safe to wander around at night.

Her reason, when she stated it, was both surprising and not. He had heard enough from Ochette to form a pretty good picture of the type of person she was.

“I’m here about the territory issue. Don’t think I’ll let you forget it. We have new children. Our village is growing. We don’t have enough food or resources. All I ask is that you share a little more of your land with us.”

Juvah closed his eyes and hung his head, and while beasts were certainly harder for him to read than people due to a lack of experience (it wasn’t every day that you encountered a talking lion, after all), he could practically feel the exasperation emanating from him as it seeped into his tone.

“How long has it been since we last spoke, and yet you are as brazen as ever,” he said. “All you humans ever think about is how to steal from others.”

“And what should we think about instead?” Cohazeh challenged. “Jerky, perhaps?”

The inquisitor found himself smiling in genuine amusement this time as Ochette’s ears perked up and her tail swished back and forth at the suggestion. Such an honest one she was, her thoughts written plain on her face even in the midst of another’s sarcasm. He sincerely hoped that she never changed.

“Cohazeh, we have no time to quarrel now,” Juvah stated, clearly growing tired with their visitors. “An enemy is approaching... A fearsome, powerful foe.”

“What...?” Just for a moment, something unsure flashed across that self-assured face, but it was quickly replaced with disbelief and a touch of irritation as she scoffed. “An enemy? Where? Have you beasts learned to lie now?”

“Night is falling. Your people would do well to prepare. Leave us now. You have had your warning.”

Annoyance in her stance, a glare on her face—but in the end, she chose to retreat. A wise choice, considering just where she was. Numbers (and weapons, though they would probably never use them against their human neighbors) were definitely on the beastlings’ side.

“I’ll be back.”

A threat, pure and simple.

And with that, Cohazeh retreated.

Nex to him, Crick was definitely glaring; the leader of the human village had clearly gotten under his skin. Understandable, for one so honor bound and noble. It was simply in his nature to stand up to and defend others from people like her. She obviously had little respect for the beastlings to the point where Juvah was probably the only thing standing in the way of her simply taking what she wanted. Ambition was a fine thing in a leader unless it came at the expense of the innocent.

And yet Ochette had claimed that she wasn’t a bad person. Over the past several months, he had learned to trust her senses on a great many things.

With a smile on his face, he looked over at his Godsblade.

“Well,” he began with just a touch of mischief while keeping his expression as enigmatic as he could, “what a charming woman.”

Crick looked at him in disbelief and with something that was clearly unimpressed.

“Surely you jest.”

“Not at all,” he said, trying to keep up the act but ultimately failing in the face of that indignant, disapproving scowl. The laugh that escaped his lips earned him a sigh as Crick gave his attention back to the task he was supposed to be working on even though his mind was clearly still on Cohazeh and the human village.

“I don’t understand how they can be like that,” he said, his tone more dejected than irritated. “The beastlings were here first, weren’t they? This island is theirs, and they chose to share it, yet she would demand more as if it were hers by right.”

“That is human nature, Crick, as you well know. I am sure you saw your fair share of it while growing up.”

“...I did. It’s one of the reasons I left. But the beastlings have been nothing but kind to us—they do not deserve such animosity. In the Nameless Village, they helped us when they had no reason to, as if it were simply in their nature to do so. Why treat that sort of kindness with contempt?”

“Greed. It is as simple as that.”

At least this time the knight’s disapproving scowl wasn’t being aimed at him.

“You can dislike the answer as much as you want, little lamb, but it is still the truth. Though if it helps ease your mind any, Ochette would have us believe that Cohazeh is not a bad person. She has a sense for these kinds of things, you see. Apparently she can tell one’s very nature by scent alone—a rather impressive feat. Not that I understand how it works, mind you. After all, she told Osvald that he smells like sunlight, whatever that means. She certainly is a curious one...”

Something that he had learned about Crick was that he was an easy man to distract with information. Throw a bunch of facts or interesting tidbits at him and he would drop whatever he might be irritated or frustrated about with barely a second thought (though in truth, he never held on to things like anger for very long anyway. Rigid in his morality though he might be, he had a fairly flexible and forgiving mind). His scowl had completely vanished, replaced instead by a brow that was furrowed in curiosity as he more than likely mulled over how something could possibly smell like “sunlight” and how detecting a person’s nature by scent even worked. Thankfully he had finished the task he’d been working on, the last palisade now secured, meaning that there was nothing left to do now but wait for night to fall.

Which would be happening shortly.

“You may want to put your armor back on, Crick, unless you intend to fight without it.”

“What? Oh!” He looked up at the sky, at the way it was starting to darken, and began the process of strapping himself back into his plate mail. About halfway through, the rest of their friends (minus Ochette) made their way over, looking around at the clearing and the fortifications that had been prepared.

“Do you think it’ll be enough?” asked Throné, looking somewhat worried that the wooden blockades wouldn’t be able to stop whatever the coming night would bring.

“Let’s hope so,” replied Castti. “According to Ochette, most of the beastlings aren’t really accustomed to fighting. I hope they’ll be alright.”

“No need to worry, Castti,” said Partitio with that ever-confident grin. “That’s why we’re here, after all, to help ‘em out. We’ve already bested this Shadow twice. I think we can manage it.”

“Ever the optimist,” Temenos mused with a smile and a fond shake of his head. “Though I suppose that attitude is much preferred over a dismal one in this sort of situation. Positivity can be infectious, and we certainly want to keep the villagers’ spirits up if we are indeed about to face a long battle.”

“I wonder what’s going to happen,” said Agnea as she wrung her hands a bit anxiously. “Aside from the moon turning red, of course. You called it a ‘solar eclipse’ when we looked it up in the library all those months ago. I’ve never seen one before. You would think that more people would notice a red moon.”

“Perhaps it does not always turn red,” suggested Hikari. “Or perhaps they usually occur during the day when only the sun is visible.”

“Huh, maybe we’ll have to ask ol’ Regulus about it next time we see him, right Osvald? He was studyin’ the stars ‘n’ what not. Maybe he’d know the answer.”

“It’s possible,” the scholar agreed. “While I wouldn’t get your hopes up on him having finished his telescope, he always did enjoy researching astronomical phenomenon.”

The merchant was about to open his mouth to add more to the conversation, but before he could get another word out, the remaining light in the area suddenly dimmed, drawing all of their attention to the horizon. Together, they moved closer to where Ochette and Juvah were standing, watching as the moon, barely visible in the sky, slowly turned a bright red before bathing everything around it—the water, the sky, the very ground upon which they stood—in a fiery, blood-soaked crimson.

“...So it begins,” said Juvah. “The Night of the Scarlet Moon.”

It was beautiful in a terrifying, ominous sort of way.

Ochette’s ears twitched as she turned around, sniffing the air.

“I smell...something,” she said, earning her what had to be a retort of some kind from Mahina (while he couldn’t understand her, Temenos had gotten fairly good at differentiating between her cries).

The hunter shook her head, her eyes falling closed as she sniffed the air again.

“No, it’s more like...a familiar scent. From long ago. Hmm...”

Unfortunately, there wasn’t time to let her figure it out. They needed to get in position.

In a matter of minutes, everyone took their places, spreading out across the area. Several of the beastlings were equipped with bows and spears, standing bravely despite the approaching threat. As a cleric, Temenos had positioned himself close to the middle along with Castti so that the two of them could monitor everyone and take care of any wounds. His magic could reach several people at once, based on distance, so being at the center made the most sense.

For now, however, he kept his gaze forward, watched as Ochette and Juvah spoke even though he was too far away to hear, and then, with a warning cry of “Here they come!” from the hunter, several shadowy creatures emerged from the forest.

It was...unsettling.

Actually, it was a lot more than just unsettling. The very sight of them made his skin crawl, as if the Shadow itself had been made manifest, physical, taking on the form of monsters. Their bodies were dark as pitch yet reflecting the red light of the moon, their eyes glowing with an otherworldly light. They almost didn’t look sentient, as if they were nothing more than destruction incarnate, intent on tearing everything in their path apart.

He was reminded of the mural in the Fellsun Ruins, of the depictions painted across the stone and the words that had been carved beneath.

The Archmage D’arqest. He called forth the night. The night brought beasts. Beasts that devoured the people.

Knowing what he did now, he could safely assume that they were the same, because the “night” that D’arqest had called was actually the Shadow. Just what was its origin? Where did it come from? Was it truly from some other realm of existence like Juvah had implied? World crossing paths with world as the moon turned scarlet... Perhaps there was actually some truth to that. He wished there was a way to learn more, but legends were often vague, and while he could search through some of the older scriptures, he wasn’t sure if he would find anything.

(It might be worth checking though, just in case).

The battle began when Ochette charged forward, unleashing arrows all the while and making precise shots even while moving and jumping into the air. Along with her were Hikari, Throné, and Osvald, while at the other end of their barricade stood Partitio, Agnea, and Crick in case anything got through or started to come from the other side. So far the monsters were stampeding from the west, but there was no guarantee they wouldn’t come from the east as well, and after the first wave was decimated, that was exactly what happened.

A group of shadowy fungoids, one of his least favorite monsters (they had too many limbs for his liking and looked like something straight out of a horror story), made their way into the clearing only to be met by sword, spear, and wind. More quickly came from the other side, enough to where a few managed to get past, and while the beastlings did their best to fight them off, they really weren’t accustomed to combat. So Temenos decided to lend a hand. He didn’t have to stick solely to healing, after all, and he would absolutely take the field if necessary, to ensure that no one got killed.

This was one of those times.

“Blaze on, O Sacred Flame!”

Normally he wouldn’t risk using Luminescence in an area where friends and bystanders could potentially be hit, because while he had always had a somewhat decent amount of precision, he had never been able to fully direct the beams of light. However, one of the benefits to all the practicing he had done lately was that he had gained greater control over his magic, his spells, and how they formed, meaning that he was able to pinpoint each strike to only hit the monsters, leaving the beastlings unharmed.

And lo and behold, the shadowy monstrosities were weak to light. They burned and recoiled from it, which made sense, he supposed. The source of light magic was faith, prayer, and the Sacred Flame itself, which would be a natural antithesis to something like the Shadow, so he shouldn’t be too surprised by—

“There’s no end to them! Where are they coming from?!”

He turned to look towards the west end where Juvah had rushed towards several beastlings who had been under attack. There were even more shadowed creatures coming, being held at bay by their front line even as Ochette fell back to help her master, her arrows striking true. It was almost as if the creatures were appearing out of thin air, as he had been certain that nothing had gotten by on either side yet somehow there had been monsters within their fortifications. They all needed to pay more attention, to keep their eyes open, cover any openings.

He wondered if the other villages were alright...

“Help! Help!!”

He looked up at the desperate shout and saw a man, a human, running towards them. He wasn’t one of the ones who had been with Cohazeh earlier, but he was obviously from the neighboring village. Not far behind him was the chieftain herself along with a whole group of people just as frantic as the one who had ran ahead.

They allowed them all to pass peacefully, to come within the relative safety of their barricade as Juvah and Ochette moved forward to meet them. For a moment, at least, there seemed to be a lull in the swarms of shadowed abominations.

“M-monsters!” the man began, his voice trembling, his eyes wide as he looked at Ochette and the isle’s warden. “They just appeared, and...I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t...no...”

Their dear hunter’s ears drooped a bit at the news, the other beastlings looking sympathetic—no, empathetic—as the man closed his eyes and hung his head in despair. The other human villagers weren’t fairing any better.

Aside from Cohazeh, whose expression was thunderous.

“Pull yourselves together!” she demanded as she stepped forward, those dark eyes narrowing as she directed the full force of her anger towards Juvah, her words practically a growl. “You animals... You knew about this. Was this what we were to prepare for?”

She pointed accusingly at the warden.

“Answer me, damn you! What’s happening on this island!?”

“I warned you, Cohazeh,” replied Juvah, his own eyes narrowing in frustration. “Night has fallen.”

And almost as if having been summoned by his words, there was a cry of “Look out!” from Agnea before several more shadowy fungoids came charging through. Most of them were thankfully dealt with, but one managed to make it to where the human villagers were standing. Thankfully, Ochette rushed forward without hesitation and made short work of it. Less thankfully, however, was the fact that instead of gratitude, she was met with disdain.

“What do you think you’re doing?” asked Cohazeh. “We need no help from animals.”

Next to him, he could see Castti frowning, practically bristling just like Crick had been earlier. This woman was really good at rubbing people the wrong way.

“Have you forgotten?” the chieftain continued. “We are locked in a struggle for this land! If we can drive these monsters away, you will be next.”

(A truly charming woman indeed).

One of the things that Temenos loved the most about Ochette was how nothing seemed to faze her. Even when something made her sad or disappointed, she could bounce back with little effort, and when it came to dealing with people who were abrasive and sometimes cruel, she simply let it roll right off. She never allowed their words or actions to affect her. It was kind of funny, really. While the way they both went about it was vastly different, that was one trait, at least, that they had in common.

True to form, the hunter simply brushed all of Cohazeh’s condescending words aside.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, “we can discuss the details later. Right now, your village needs you. Get fighting!”

Much to his amusement, Cohazeh seemed genuinely surprised and taken aback by those words. Trust Ochette to simply cut right to the heart of the matter. While she tended to be pretty carefree, she knew when something was a priority and wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. This was certainly no time to be quarreling amongst each other with the Shadow pressing against their backs.

Literally.

Because right after Ochette had dismissed Cohazeh’s threat, two huge swarms of shadowed monsters pushed in from both sides, forcing them all back towards the center of the battlefield like a group of predators encircling their prey.

“Whoa, whoa! This wasn’t in the legends!” Ochette exclaimed as she drew her bow once more (he might have found her indignant tone funny if the situation weren’t so dire, sounding as if her island’s legend had personally wronged her with its vagueness).

“I told you,” said Juvah as he sliced clean through one of the monsters. “This is the calamity! The Night of the Scarlet Moon is even worse than I imagined.”

So quick to turn something negative into a positive, their talented hunter broke into a smile that almost looked gleeful, her eyes shining as she witnessed the challenge before her.

“Kind of exciting though, don’t you think?”

Her words were followed by a volley of arrows as the shadowed beasts all moved, making short work of a small pack that had been moving in on a defenseless human villager. Despite the chaos around them of blades flashing and magic flying, her attention had been on those at immediate risk as she put herself in front of the man she had saved and told him to stay behind her as she drew back her bowstring once more.

She truly was impressive, risking herself for those who looked down on her, on her race, because to Ochette, life was a thing to be valued, to be protected. She would not suffer even one loss if it was within her power to prevent it, no matter what someone might have said or done in the past. It was admirable, her ability to move past hate, to welcome even those who saw her and the other beastlings as nothing more than animals. Retaliation simply wasn’t in her nature.

He wondered if these humans would ever realize just how fortunate they were to have such openhearted, forgiving, and peaceful neighbors. It would truly be in their best interests to play nice and try to get along. What would it take for them to drop the superiority and understand, to find some common ground? Just how long would they keep looking down on them simply for being something other than human?

When Cohazeh finally moved forward to join the fray, grabbing a bow and quiver from a pile of weapons they had stored behind one of the nearby palisades and declaring that she would fight too, Temenos found himself thinking that perhaps the road to acceptance wouldn’t be too long of one after all.

Her actions earned her a bright, toothy grin from Ochette as the beastling said, “Nice! Now we’re talking! That’s the spirit, Cohazeh!” And then without any further preamble, the two of them rained down arrows into the chaos around them.

While their enemies certainly had the numbers, they lacked any sort of cohesion, and so with a good deal of skill and teamwork (and a few healing spells courtesy of him and Castti), their odd group of fighters and non-fighters all managed to make it out of the massive wave of monsters mostly unharmed. There were a few who might need some concentrated healing (one of the beastlings was gripping his shoulder while a human woman had clearly taken a tumble and possibly twisted or sprained her ankle), but for the most part there were no wounds that needed immediate attention, which meant that just for a moment, at least, they could all take a breather.

He could see Partitio wiping sweat from his brow, Throné cleaning off her dagger, Agnea being handed what was probably a plum leaf concoction by Castti while Osvald simply took a few bites of a inspiriting plum. Both Hikari and Crick kept their blades drawn, remaining alert for any more approaching danger, vigilant even as Ochette basked in their victory, stretching her arms over her head with a big, satisfied sigh.

“Whew, I think we’ve earned a break!”

“Not yet,” Cohazeh told her, looking off to the west where the trees were shaking, an indication of yet another swarm approaching. “There’s still plenty of monsters over there. They’ve done enough damage to the island already. It ends here.”

Juvah nodded his head in agreement.

“A rare occasion,” he began, “but I agree with you. We cannot let these outsiders run wild. Ochette! Now’s our chance.”

“Yes, sir!”

...So, the plan was to push forward and cut a path through, perhaps even find wherever they were coming from and put a stop to it. He honestly wouldn’t be surprised if there was some sort of incarnation of the Shadow hiding farther within the forest. The west was where the monsters had first appeared, after all. Plus, he was pretty sure that they could trust Juvah and Ochette’s instincts on the matter, and if they thought the true threat was in that direction, he wasn’t about to question them. The real question at the moment was who would be going with them.

The decision was actually made pretty quickly: Osvald for his magic, Throné to balance out Ochette’s raw strength with her speed and versatility, and then Castti to keep them healthy. That final decision had actually fallen to the apothecary, and Temenos knew that part of the reason was due to how much she tended to fret over Ochette while the other part, the practical part, was because his healing was more group oriented. It would be easier for him to look after all of the villagers than for a single apothecary.

“Temenos, before I go, here,” she said as she reached into her satchel and pulled out a bottle, a premade concoction that she handed to him. He accepted it but gave her a quizzical look in return, because it wasn’t as if he was running low on spirit or anything. He honestly hadn’t used that much magic during the fight.

Understanding the question that he hadn’t verbally asked, she told him, with just a hint of a smile, “It’s a mixture of plum leaf, skybalm, and strengthening serum. In case you need it.”

...Well.

Needless to say he was a bit shocked.

The inquisitor simply blinked at her for a moment before looking down at the bottle, turning it over in his hand. It was not lost on him what this gift truly was, even if he couldn’t quite believe it. He had honestly thought after his last battle that she might never accept what he was trying to do, considering where it had landed him. Apparently that wasn’t the case.

He offered her an amused smile.

“It almost feels as though I have finally earned your approval with this.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” she replied, the corner of her mouth lifting as well. “But I know you, Temenos, and so I know that you’ll use it if you think it’s necessary whether I’m around to help you or not. That tincture is so that you don’t have to worry about being unable to heal afterwards, should you find yourself in a bad situation.”

“Assuming I don’t render myself unconscious again.”

“I don’t think you will.”

Another surprising gesture, to show such confidence in him when there was no proof to back it up. His record so far was anything but stellar.

“Oh? Do you truly have such faith in me? I’m flattered.”

Before she could say anything in response, Osvald called for her. It was time for them all to head out, to face whatever else was lurking in the forest. None of them liked having to split up like this, but they couldn’t simply leave the beastlings and humans to fend for themselves. Someone needed to watch out for them, to make sure that every single person made it out alive.

He allowed his gaze to linger on Ochette, Throné, and Osvald for a moment before he looked down at Castti.

“Keep them safe. I shall do the same.” It was a request and a promise between healers, between those who had sworn to use their abilities in order to keep their companions alive. A burden shared is a burden halved, they often said. He knew that she would do everything in her power to guarantee they all returned.

“I promise,” she replied with a solemn nod. “We’ll be back soon.”

And with that, she was off. He watched until their group disappeared beyond the tree line.

Tucking his potion into the pocket of his robes, he turned around and made his way back towards the other end of their fortifications. Among the civilians, he could see humans and beastlings standing together, arming themselves with spears and bows, ready to face whatever lay ahead. The animosity was gone, their shared goal being to survive and defend their shared home from the threat wreaking havoc across their lands.

He couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

Yes, a peaceful coexistence might be right around the corner indeed, but in order for that to happen, they had to make it through the night.

In the distance, he could see shadowed forms emerging from the eastern forest.

Time to get back to work.

...Things could have been going better. That being said, they could also have been going a lot worse. Still, he was certain that every one of them would be lying if they tried to claim that the Night of the Scarlet Moon wasn’t wearing on their nerves. It was proving to be a long night indeed.

Especially for those at the front line.

“These things just keep comin’!” said Partitio as he stabbed the end of his spear into a shadowed birdian, one of many that had recently emerged from the forest. “I don’t know how much more of this we can take.”

“We must hold them here,” Hikari called as his blade cut cleanly through another. “I hope the villages are alright... We told everyone who couldn’t fight to remain hidden, but there’s no way to know if these creatures can still find them. We have no idea what their goal is. If they fight purely for destruction, then they might attack anything, or if they can somehow sense living things, then nowhere is safe.”

It was a legitimate concern, but there wasn’t time to worry about that. Before following Juvah into the forest, they had listened to the warden give instructions to his charges, telling them to hide within their homes once the moon turned red. They were to remain silent and still, to keep the doors and windows closed. They were not to come out for any reason until the night was over. Despite knowing little about what they would be facing, he had believed that they would be safe like that, that nothing would seek them out. Hopefully he had been right. While Temenos had his doubts, there was nothing to be done about it. All they could do was pray.

At the very least, the monsters in the area seemed to almost be drawn towards the sound of fighting, so perhaps the only ones they truly needed to be worried about right now were themselves.

A gust of wind raced across the battlefield, courtesy of Agnea, making many of the birdians easy pickings once they crashed to the ground. Just for good measure, because healing wasn’t needed right now, he followed up her spell with Luminescence, making quick work of several shadowed beasts.

“You lot are quite skilled,” said Cohazeh, sounding genuinely impressed. “You’re clearly not from around here. Travelers, I take it?”

“Something like that,” the inquisitor replied, not all that interested in small talk. This woman was getting there, slowly, but she had yet to earn any of their trust.

“We’re just a group o’ people tryin’ to make the world a better place,” Partitio added, never afraid to speak his mind and paint their ragtag group in a positive light. He wasn’t exactly wrong, even though Temenos would be hard pressed to refer to his own goals as such. Making the world “better” had never really been a part of his motivation, after all.

The same could obviously not be said about his dear Godsblade, however, who clearly agreed with Partitio if the smile on his face was any indication. There was definitely pride there. Much like Hikari, their bighearted merchant was someone else that he had been sure Crick would get along with as he was yet another who was trying to solve the problems of the world with his unique charisma and talents. So many bright, young souls who had seen some of the worst parts of life, of people, and yet still they believed in a better tomorrow, in their ability to make a difference.

He sincerely hoped they could achieve it, despite his cynicism.

“Another wave is coming!”

Hikari’s shout drew their attention back to the pathway.

“Seriously, just how much longer is this thing supposed to take?” asked Partitio as he hefted his spear. “We can’t keep this up all night. I mean, sure, we’ve pulled all-nighters before, but not like this!”  

True enough. This was a bit much. A couple hours they could handle, but the entire night? Their stamina would surely run out. Consuming plums could help, of course, but there was only so much that the little fruits could do, and they definitely weren’t enough to relieve the exhaustion from forcing one’s body to remain awake for far longer than it should. Unfortunately, there was nothing else for it. If they didn’t fight, they would die, and it wasn’t just their lives on the line, so giving in was not an option. They would simply have to make do in whatever ways they could.

They all readied their weapons, preparing for the next onslaught, and as they stood at the ready, he saw Crick glance back at him.

The knight kept doing that. Quite often. As if he were simply reassuring himself that Temenos was still there. It was a rather pointless action, because where else would he be, but underneath the amusement was also something fond, a feeling of appreciation at that small show of concern. His little lamb really did take his vows so very seriously.

However, unlike all of the times before, his attention did not return to the place in front of him. Instead, Temenos watched as those blue eyes widened, as his stance tensed, and if it weren’t for the scarlet moon turning everything red, he was pretty sure that his face would have paled as well.

Temenos didn’t need to turn around to know what he was probably looking at, but he did so anyway.

And his breath caught in his throat.

...There was a horde.

A massive horde of monsters was coming from the west, far larger than any of the ones they had dealt with so far.

Where did they come from? That was the direction that the others had gone off in, and they surely would have cleared the way as they progressed, so how were there so many bearing down on them now? Were they really just appearing out of thin air, materializing from some other realm, the one that Juvah had mentioned? Was there truly no end to them?

“We’ve more from the west!” he heard Crick call, followed by a curse from Partitio as the merchant turned to look.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kiddin’ me! Where are they all comin’ from!?”

Needless to say this wasn’t good. They were already dealing with a pack from the east, but that swarm from the west would overwhelm them. There was no way they would all be escaping unscathed. If that mass of shadowy monsters descended upon their group, there would definitely be casualties, and that was unacceptable, because the point was to protect the island and all those who resided on it. That was the entire reason they were here. Failure was not an option. Surely there had to be something they could...

...Well, there was something he could do. One thing, in fact. Castti had even given him her blessing. With very few options, it was worth a short.

But first, he needed to make sure that no one was hurt. If this went poorly for him, he at least wanted to be sure that the others were alright. A normal healing spell should be enough.

The inquisitor drew on his spirit, said the incantation beneath his breath, and sent a wave of healing magic across the area. It touched every single person, human and beastling alike, and he saw the confusion on some of their faces, especially those of his friends, because he was pretty sure that most of them had not needed his care. They would understand shortly though.

Because as soon as his spell ended, he whirled around and began running.

“Temenos, what are you—”

He ignored the call of his name and moved forward to the western side of the battlefield, well beyond the barricades in order to guarantee that he was far enough away, that no one would get caught up in his spell. He trusted that his friends would remain where they were, that by separating himself from them they would realize his intent and keep the villagers away, that they would stop them from accidently getting too close. He trusted them, trusted that they would handle it, because his priority was on the approaching shadowy swarm before him.

He took just a moment to calculate everything in his head as well as steel his resolve. This would work. He was certain that he still had over half of his spirit left, and these creatures were nowhere near as powerful as Kaldena had been. Heavenly Shine could definitely wipe out the entire horde without issue—the problem would be what came after, unfortunately. He really needed to not pass out, to not lose all feeling in his body. There was no telling how much longer this onslaught would last, and he could not afford to become incapacitated. He was the only healer present, and Castti had given him that concoction so that he could replenish his spirit and his strength in case something had happened, in case he had deemed it necessary to use Heavenly Shine.

Stopping an entire swarm of Shadow-infested monsters seemed like a good enough reason.

This was a gamble. He knew that it was a gamble, but...at the same time, he wanted to believe in what Osvald had told him, that if he simply allowed himself a moment’s respite after casting, his body would acclimate to the immediate drain of his spirit without resulting in any negative effects. Eventually it would get used to it with repeated casting (that was simply how learning magic worked), but he really needed that time to be now, because he couldn’t afford for it to be otherwise.

Doubt was what he did, but he was going to choose to trust in himself, in his magic, and perhaps even in the god whose spell he was trying to use. This time, everything would work. He needed it to work.

It had to work.

Taking a deep breath, Temenos gathered his magic. It came to him even faster than the last time, flooding every inch of him with warmth. Every repetition made it easier, made it feel more and more like something he could truly hone, the power settling beneath his skin effortlessly as he waited for the right moment.

He did not have to wait long.

“Aelfric,” he began as soon as the entire mass was within range, as soon as he was certain that he would not miss a single one, “unleash your fury!”

And just like all the times before, his magic answered his call.

Light, beautiful and blinding, once again poured out from him, burning all of the shadowed creatures to cinders in its wake. In the back of his mind, he wondered how Kal had done it all those years ago, if he had truly conjured an azure flame or if he had simply borrowed power from the Sacred Flame, turning it into holy light. What he wouldn’t give to know the full truth, but some mysteries, unfortunately, just couldn’t be solved. Not even by him. Instead, he would simply have to settle for what he had. It was enough for him to know that both he and Osvald possessed magic that could counter the Shadow, that in the midst of what was meant to be absolute darkness, they could fight their way through. It was a comforting thought.

This wouldn’t be the last time they dealt with it, surely. So many roads seemed to lead back to it in one way or another. He wondered what other forms it might take, how else they would encounter it, how deeply it was imbedded into their world.

Where did it even come from?

“The Shadow is everything, Temenos.”

Kaldena’s words still bothered him. They would probably continue to bother him. Because they sounded so very familiar. Try as he might, however, he couldn’t seem to find the answer, but hopefully one day he would. One day, he would line the pieces up. There would surely be plenty of time to think about it in the days to come. Perhaps he would find more clues as well.

One could hope, anyway.

When the light finally faded, Temenos opened his eyes. Before him was the forest, with ash floating off into the air, and not a single sign of monstrous life. He had put a stop to them all, just like he had intended, using Heavenly Shine to wipe them out in one go. Everyone would be safe now. There was no longer a massive horde of shadows about to cut a path through their defenses and descend upon the defenseless villages, he had seen to that.

It wasn’t over yet, however. There was still the matter of himself to sort out.

And so, reminding himself of Osvald’s advice, the inquisitor remained perfectly still. He simply stood there, waiting, watching, breathing in and out. He saw the ash and smoke dissipate, twisting into meaningless shapes in the air, and all the while he simply waited, expecting to feel something—anything to indicate that he wasn’t well, but...

But there was nothing. There was actually nothing. No nausea, no loss of feeling, no headache, just a bit of perfectly normal exhaustion, which was usually how he felt when he used a lot of magic, when his spiritual well began to run dry. He did not feel like a man who could potentially pass out at any moment. He knew that was no guarantee—he had not felt particularly awful during the fight with Kaldena either—but the part of him that still liked to hope was trying to convince him that everything would be okay, that this time wasn’t like the others.

He remained still for a moment longer, however, just to be sure.

Amidst the rushing of his own thoughts, he was able to hear hurried footsteps coming up behind him, the sound of metal clanking. He knew that it was Crick before the knight even entered his field of view, coming to a stop just to the side of him with a worried look on his face and hands raised as if preparing to reach out and catch him should he start to fall.

“Temenos?” his Godsblade asked cautiously, questioningly, and the inquisitor glanced over at him briefly, just to acknowledge his presence, before taking another deep breath and carefully moving his arms. Last time, moving too suddenly had resulted in everything hitting him at once, and so he made sure to go slowly, focusing on each tiny motion, on the way he felt, tentatively hoping for the best and trying not to expect the worst.

In the end, his patience and perseverance were rewarded. There was no tingling, no numbness, not even any muscle fatigue as he bent his arms up and curled his fingers, clenching and unclenching his hands. They felt normal, no different than how they usually were, which was something that he soon found was true for the rest of his body as well.

He was fine. For the first time since starting this questionable magical endeavor, he was perfectly fine.

He was fine.

And the feeling that began to well up in him at the realization was nothing short of elated.

Finally...

Finally, he was making some true progress, his body adapting, his control tightening. He could now cast Heavenly Shine without becoming a liability afterwards, without putting himself and those around him at risk. He felt justified in his success, in the fact that his belief hadn’t been born out of sheer arrogance, that he had been right to think that he could do this, that as Aelfric’s chosen it was actually within his reach.

The most powerful light magic spell was his now, and he could not have been happier for it. He could feel a smile spreading unbidden across his face.

“I actually... Heh.”

Gods, he really had done it, hadn’t he, and in the end he was unable to contain the delighted laughter that bubbled up inside of him, spilling forth from his lips as he tipped his head back and simply allowed himself to bask in the moment, to feel the euphoria of what he had accomplished.

And as he stood there, looking up at the sky, that horrible crimson hue that had tinted everything in a foreboding red, that had brought so much chaos to the island of Toto’haha, began to fade before his eyes. The water, the sky, the very land itself returned to its natural color, the leaves on the trees practically glowing silver under the light of the brilliant white moon.

It truly was a beautiful sight...

Just like that, the tension was gone, that feeling of unease vanishing as the island returned to the way it was, to how it was meant to be. At last, they could breathe a sigh of relief. The threat had finally passed.

The Night of the Scarlet Moon was over.

Chapter Text

Crick knew that he was going to have to get used to it.

He knew that, whether he wanted to or not, he had to get used to it. He didn’t have a choice, because regardless of anyone’s wishes, Temenos was always going to just do whatever he wanted, which sometimes involved rushing—by himself—into danger. It was vexing, but as much as he would prefer to keep the inquisitor in his sights at all times during a fight, he knew that it wasn’t possible, nor was it practical, and he needed to accept that. For a lot of reasons.

So, when Temenos healed them all even though they technically didn’t need it and then immediately turned around and ran towards the approaching horde of monsters, Crick forced himself not to follow, knowing that in this case he would simply get in the way. Because it had only taken him a second after calling out to realize what the cleric intended to do.

After all, there was only one guaranteed way to stop such a large group of monsters, and wishing for a different solution would do him no good. There just wasn’t one. This was the only way, even if he didn’t like it, and no matter what, he could not interfere. Instead, he needed to focus on his own tasks, needed to make sure that no one and nothing tried to approach the inquisitor so that he could cast his spell uninterrupted. With a charge as troublesome and stubborn as Temenos, sometimes offering support was the most he could do.

That being said, this time he would go to his friend’s side when the light from Heavenly Shine faded. He would not remain idle. Whether there was actually an immediate threat to his life or not, he wasn’t going to make the same mistake again. He prayed that nothing would happen though, that everything would turn out alright. As he cut through another monster, as that heavenly light appeared in his peripheral, he prayed that everything would be alright.

Eventually, the monsters from the east were all vanquished, the final few falling prey to a particularly powerful gust of wind from Agnea followed by a volley of arrows from Cohazeh and the villagers. With no more threats before him, Crick turned around and watched as that bright dome of light expanded, swallowing up every single monster in its path. He had to admit that it was an incredible spell, and he could understand why Temenos was so adamant about learning it. In truth, he wasn’t sure what else they could have done against that many enemies; it’s possible that they would’ve been completely overwhelmed. Having a spell like that in his arsenal, one that could turn the tide of a battle and save countless lives seemed like a worthwhile thing to pursue. Even if it was detrimental to his health.

Supposedly though, that wouldn’t always be the case. Eventually his body was supposed to get used to it, according to Osvald. Until that time came, however, the knight wanted to make sure he was close by, that he would be there in case he was needed, to catch him if he fell.

And so when the light began to disperse, that brilliant golden dome fading into the night, Crick checked to make sure there were no more monsters coming from the east before he ran to the inquisitor’s side.

“Temenos?” he called tentatively, but rather than acknowledging him, the cleric just stood there for a moment, remaining perfectly still. Eventually those green eyes glanced over at him before turning their gaze downward, and he watched as a rather deep breath was taken before Temenos slowly began to move his arms. He clenched and unclenched his hands, bent his arms up at the elbow and then down as if testing their movement. Several times he did so until the corner of his mouth twitched and a smile began to spread across his face.

Crick had seen Temenos smile before. The cleric tended to smile a lot, actually. Often in amusement, occasionally in sympathy—some were fake, some were genuine—and a few times he had even caught sight of something soft and happy and fond like when he had interacted with that little girl in the Nameless Village. Once or twice, that look had even been directed at him.

This one, however, put all of the others to shame.

Gone was his reservation, his mask, and in its place was something bright and confident and joyful, a feeling that absolutely reached his eyes and etched itself into every line of his face until he was practically glowing with it. And when he tipped his head back and laughed—actually laughed—not in humor but in pure, unfettered delight, allowing himself to bask in his accomplishment without restraint, the knight found himself entranced, watching in complete and total awe as his breath caught in his throat.

For a moment, he was pretty sure his mind went completely blank. He didn’t even notice as the harsh red light from the moon faded, returning to its gentle glow. Not until it caught on that snow-white hair and painted the man before him in resplendent silver.

Eventually, Temenos turned to him, those dark green eyes still shining, and upon being met with the full force of that smile, softer now but no less pleased, no less bright, he could do nothing but stare at the sight before him as his heart (it had to be his heart, because what else could it be?) stuttered in his chest before threatening to leap from his ribcage.

In the back of his mind, he could hear the word “beautiful” being whispered again. He also found himself thinking that words alone, even that word, would never do enough justice.

He wondered if he could ever be responsible for making Temenos smile like that...

And then, feeling quite suddenly overwhelmed, he immediately repressed all of it.

The moment ended soon afterwards anyway at the call of Temenos’s name.

“Temenos!” shouted Agnea as she, Hikari, and Partitio finally caught up. “Are you alright? Do you feel okay? That was incredible, by the way.”

That gaze shifted away from him, and suddenly he could breathe again, all the while choosing to ignore the voice in his head that claimed he wouldn’t have minded being trapped like that for a little longer.

“Why, thank you, Agnea,” Temenos replied, still smiling. “And I feel just fine, my dear. Better than fine, actually. It would seem that I am finally getting the hang of this.”

“I’ll say!” agreed Partitio, grinning brightly. “You took down all those monsters by yourself, and you’re still standin’! Looks like all that hard work really paid off.”

“Indeed, although I fear I am in for a good deal more yet. Still, I believe I would like to bask in this accomplishment for a little while at least, considering some of the hurdles it took to get here.”

“Do you truly feel alright though?” asked Hikari. “No loss of feeling? No exhaustion?”

“Well, I suppose I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t tired. In fact, if the danger has truly passed, then I would very much like to take a break.”

“I don’t think there’s anythin’ to worry about. Go on and take a breather. After that display, I’d say you’ve more than earned it.”

“Many thanks. Do inform me if anything happens though, will you?”

“You got it, partner!”

And with that, the inquisitor carefully made his way to the closest palisade, leaned his back against the wooden boards, and then proceeded to slide down until he was sitting on the ground. He did look rather tired, although Crick knew that part of the reason was due to the late hour. While their battle had not taken the entire night, only a part of it, it was still quite late (or early, he supposed) and Temenos had spent that entire time healing wounds, casting Luminescence, and then finally expending the entirety of his spirit to wipe out a horde of monsters. It was true that the rest of them had been extremely active as well, doing all they could to hold the line, but the exhaustion that came from overusing magic, from draining one’s spirit, was a bit different from the type born from physical exertion. He could admit to being a little bit worried, despite the fact that everything seemed fine.

Deciding that he didn’t have anything better to do—and because his job was to look after the somewhat troublesome cleric—Crick walked over to the palisade and proceeded to sit down next to his charge.

“Are you really alright?” he asked, because Temenos had a tendency to put on airs even when he didn’t need to. Sometimes it was easier to get an honest answer out of him when speaking one-on-one.

The smile he was met with was a soft thing, devoid of amusement.

“I am,” the inquisitor replied. “You needn’t worry, Crick. Although I was not lying about being tired. I would prefer to wait until the others return, but...” His eyelids began to droop as he hid a yawn behind his hand. “...I do not know how much longer I can remain awake. If possible, I would rather not waste the concoction that Castti gave me, plus she would surely scold me if she found out I only drank it to avoid falling asleep.”

“Then perhaps it would be better for you to rest.”

Temenos gave him a somewhat suspicious look at that suggestion before attempting to reiterate his earlier point.

“I just said that I would prefer to—”

“I’ll wake you when they return.”

There was a hint of irritation on that tired face, probably due to the fact that Crick had cut him off, but there was also something thoughtful as he no doubt considered the suggestion.

Eventually, after a bit of contemplation, he asked, “You promise that you will wake me?”

“Yes.” As if he would lie about something like that, although given some of the things he had managed to glean about Temenos and his sleeping habits (and a certain apothecary’s insistence on correcting them), he could maybe understand the skepticism.

The inquisitor breathed a sigh and allowed his body to relax.

“Very well,” he said, sounding as if he were conceding some great victory to Crick. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to rest for a bit.”

Temenos closed his eyes, and it was truly a testament to how tired he must have been when in no time at all he was asleep, his breathing evening out, slowing down, as any remaining tension from the battle bled from him, leaving behind a quiet sense of peace. Crick breathed his own sigh, one of relief, as he turned his gaze to the moon—bright white instead of red—and then to the forest where the rest of their party was certain to emerge.

He had no doubt that they would return. It wasn’t blind faith but trust, because these people were capable of incredible feats, and he truly did feel blessed to be able to accompany them on their journey. He wanted to get to know them all better, could see several of them becoming dear friends, just like the man sitting next to him had.

...Well, perhaps not quite like that. Temenos was...different. He didn’t entirely know how he was different, only that his relationship with the inquisitor felt...special, in a sense (he hesitated to use that word, seeing as how it carried a variety of connotations, but he could find no better term for it given the uniqueness of his situation). Perhaps that was just the kind of thing that happened when you placed your faith in another person, when you dedicated yourself fully to another’s protection and wellbeing. They were friends, yes, but they were also something more than that, bound by a mutual desire for the truth. There was still so much left to do yet in that regard, and he was going to see it through, come what may.

He was not afraid to walk the righteous path, no matter how difficult the travelling might be. He would not have become a knight, would not have taken that grueling, arduous road otherwise.

Crick took a deep breath of warm, tropical air and relaxed against the palisade, settling himself as comfortably as he could (armor was not very conducive to sitting on the ground, unfortunately), but when a weight suddenly fell against his right arm, he stopped his shifting and held perfectly still.

This was certainly familiar.

Carefully, he looked over and found a head of white hair by his shoulder, because once again Temenos had apparently tipped to the side in his sleep. However, unlike the last time, there was no reason to wake him, meaning that Crick was probably going to have to resign himself to letting this be. He didn’t necessarily mind, all things considered (it was certainly better than having Temenos fall the other direction and end up on the ground), but there was no way that such a thing could possibly be comfortable. Plate mail did not make for a very good pillow.

Maybe if he just...

With as much care as he could, the knight shifted his slumbering charge with one hand while grabbing his mantle with the other, moving it so that the fabric covered his right arm. It probably wouldn’t make that much of a difference, but it was surely better than resting against hard steel, especially since he didn’t know how long they would be sitting there for. While Temenos could definitely use the sleep, he still hoped that the others would return soon.

There was nothing to do but wait, and so after taking one last look at the cleric, just to make sure he didn’t seem uncomfortable in his new position, Crick resolved himself to do exactly that.

He turned his attention to the forest and watched for something to change. Patience was often considered to be a virtuous trait.

He may as well start practicing it.

Temenos did not often sleep soundly. Sometimes, he even had trouble sleeping deeply. And then there were the times (plenty of them, unfortunately) where he hadn’t been able to get comfortable at all.

“...Temenos.”

So, naturally, that meant that his current state, where he had actually been sleeping quite well for a change, could not be allowed to last. That was simply how these things went.

“Temenos, wake up.”

(It certainly didn’t help that he had asked for this).

As he slowly came back to himself from the depths of sleep, the inquisitor felt a hand on his shoulder, firm and insistent yet shaking him gently. It took his groggy mind a moment to realize that the hand as well as the voice in his ear belonged to Crick. It then took an additional moment for him to realize that he was leaning against his Godsblade’s shoulder, that at some point he must have fallen to the left and the knight had simply let him stay there (unlike the last time) as he slept. A kind gesture. Hopefully Crick hadn’t been too uncomfortable because of it.

With some effort, Temenos raised his head and forced his eyes open, rubbing at them a bit to clear his vision.

“Crick?” he asked sleepily, trying and failing to remember why, exactly, he had asked to be awoken. Was there a threat? Did the Shadow return? Did someone need healing? “What...?

“The others are back.”

Well, that quickly woke him up, the knight’s hand falling away from his shoulder as he turned towards the forest in front of them. Sure enough, there they were: Castti, Throné, Osvald, and Ochette, with Mahina flying above and Juvah walking a few paces behind. From a distance, it didn’t appear as though any of them were too hurt, although Ochette was being carried on Osvald’s back. That didn’t necessarily mean that she was injured, however—the scholar had on several occasions allowed their young hunter to ride on his back while traveling—but at the same time it would be remiss of him to assume that no one needed his aid. Castti was a fine healer, but her magic wasn’t as strong as his. At the very least, he needed to check on them.

Temenos got to his feet, only having to steady himself against the palisade for a second before he began making his way forward, knowing that the rest of his friends probably wouldn’t be too far behind. There was no way they hadn’t been waiting for this moment as well.

Ochette’s ears twitched as he approached, and she raised her head as soon as he drew close. The smile she offered him wasn’t as bright as usual, a hint of sadness lurking in her eyes. Whatever she had been through on the far side of the island had obviously taken a toll. The tale would surely be told later, even though he was undeniably curious, but for now, making sure they were all alright came first.

Which was apparently the beastling’s priority as well.

“Temenos!” she called. “Is everyone okay?”

“I was about to ask you that,” he replied. “Everyone is well, including the villagers, although you all look a little worse for wear.”

“It was a...tough fight,” said Throné, and just from the tone of her voice he could tell that she meant it in more ways than one. He wanted to ask (again, curiosity), but he knew that now wasn’t the time. All of them were surely exhausted. He was also quick to notice that his assistant was cradling her left wrist, which was wrapped in several bandages, and he desperately hoped that it was only sprained and not broken. While it was true that he was an exceptional healer, he was not particularly skilled when it came to mending broken bones due to how tricky they could often be. Apothecaries were better suited to that kind of thing, knowing how to set and align breaks so that they fused together properly while healing. Magic had the unfortunate potential to fuse them incorrectly, which was obviously a problem, and so it was better to simply avoid such a thing. Sprains, however, were easy enough for him to fix.

He looked to Castti, knowing that she would give him an accurate assessment of everyone’s health.

“We all took some pretty hard hits,” she said without him even needing to ask. “I used up most of my supplies, and I didn’t have enough spirit left to heal everything. Thankfully most of our remaining wounds are minor. There’s nothing broken, just a few sprains and a lot of bruising. Nothing that you won’t be able to heal.”

“Wonderful.” It seemed that all of them really would be walking away from this calamity unscathed. “Just give me a moment, will you?”

He reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out the concoction that he had been given. This was its intended purpose, after all.

As he opened the bottle, he saw Castti’s eyes widen, just a bit. The action was quick to catch Osvald’s attention as well.

“Temenos,” the apothecary began, “you...”

“Hm?”

“You used it.”

“Not yet, but I am about to,” he said while motioning to the bottle, which earned him a look that was just shy of an eye roll (he knew what she had meant, but it was fun to feign ignorance).

“You know what I mean. Heavenly Shine. You used it.”

That quickly got the rest of their attention, and he couldn’t help but smile in response. The pride he had felt earlier about his accomplishment hadn’t worn off just yet.

“I did. There was a horde of monsters, you see—I had little choice in the matter.”

“How long ago?”

That was a good question, actually. He had no idea how long he had been asleep for, but there was at least one indicator he could go by.

“Just before the scarlet moon faded.”

Surprise, relief, joy, satisfaction—so many different emotions crossed over their faces at the news. It really was nice, having people to share this kind of thing with, people who genuinely cared not just about his wellbeing but his goals and achievements as well.

“So, you can finally manage it,” said Osvald, and that was definitely a grin on the man’s face, slight though it might be. “That should make the rest of your training easier.”

“I certainly hope so. It would be nice never to end up unconscious again. However, we can discuss that matter more later. For now, let’s get you all sorted, shall we?”

One concoction, a healing spell, and some words of relief from the rest of their companions later (it had taken the four of them longer than he had thought it would to catch up), everyone was back to full health and making their way across the clearing to where the beastling and human villagers were waiting.

What happened next both was and wasn’t surprising.

It turned out that Ochette had been right after all—Cohazeh was in fact a decent person. Apparently fighting together to save their island, not to mention seeing Ochette and Juvah rush off towards the potential source of the calamity, had resulted in a change of heart for the chieftain. The beastlings had all fought to protect their home, to protect each other, and to protect their human neighbors without a second thought. It had probably been a rather sobering realization for the humans. Despite all their casual cruelty, their prejudice, their greed, they had been met over and over again with kindness and acceptance, all past wrongs forgiven as if they had never been made in the first place. It was a humbling thing.

He prayed they would never lose sight of it.

Ochette’s grin was bright, her eyes shining as her tail swished back and forth, a clear sign of her joy over the idea of living and working together as one island.

“Heh heh...I like the sound of that,” she said. “But first things first though, breakfast!”

Next to him, he heard Castti breathe a deep, exasperated sigh—the sound of a longsuffering mother.

The inquisitor smothered a laugh against his sleeve.

Some things just never changed.

(And he wouldn’t have it any other way).

Breakfast turned out to be a very lively affair. Understandable, considering their recent victory. There had been absolutely no opposition to throwing a feast, not by the human villagers and certainly not by the beastlings, who he was fairly convinced could eat half of their weight in one sitting. Everyone had chipped in, providing meat and crops, preparing all of it and cooking together. Food was distributed equally, the two races eating amicably side by side, the children intermingling effortlessly (no surprise there, really) while the adults slowly became comfortable enough to exchange a few words.

It was a heartwarming sight.

Temenos, as well as the rest of the travelers (minus Castti and Agnea, who were helping with the food), had made the choice to spread out on the grassy outcropping above Beasting Village, which was apparently where Juvah, Ochette, and Mahina often took their meals. The inquisitor had just sat down with a skewer of meat and vegetables (shish kababs had been a great idea for such a large group, even if they weren’t exactly what most would consider “breakfast”) when he suddenly felt a gentle nudge against his thigh.

He glanced down and found the beady, round eyes of Acta looking back at him. A bit surprising, that. Normally the baby sea serpent stayed with Ochette while they travelled, but sometimes when they made camp or were sequestered away in their rooms at an inn, the little creature would wander around among them. Apparently this situation counted—clearly it had felt safe enough to leave its master’s side. And for whatever reason, Acta had grown to like him specifically, probably because the inquisitor did not have the heart to deny the little creature whenever it chose to seek him out.

(Throné was not the only one who had a slight weakness for adorable animals, although he would never admit to that fact outright).

Breathing a quiet but fond sigh, he switched his skewer to his left hand and reached down with his right, holding his palm open in invitation. It was a familiar gesture by this point. With a happy mew, Acta slithered up his arm in a manner not dissimilar to a snake, coming to rest on his right shoulder and nestling safely within the shelter of his cloak. He felt that scaled tail drape around his neck as the beast made itself comfortable before a cold snout was pressed to his cheek in greeting.

“Well, hello to you as well, Acta,” he said, reaching up with his free hand to brush a finger beneath the serpent’s chin. “I hear that you performed quite admirably during the battle yesterday. You did well keeping everyone safe.”

“Mrao!”

In his peripheral, he could see Throné smiling, and it was obvious that she wanted to say something but was choosing to hold her tongue. This sort of scene wasn’t that out of the ordinary, although it was true that he didn’t allow it to happen too often and especially not out in public. It was fine for right now though, seeing as how no one in the village truly knew him, nor would they be in any position to spread rumors about the inquisitor of the church behaving in a doting manner. Still, he would try to keep the indulgence to a minimum. Shameless though he might be, he was not immune to embarrassment.

The cleric could feel several eyes on him, and while he was expecting something to be said, it was Juvah who eventually chose to comment on the display.

“It seems quite fond of you,” the warden beast said as Acta began to rub its head against his cheek affectionately, which he normally wouldn’t have minded except for the fact that it made eating rather difficult. He was at least grateful that Juvah’s observation was exactly that, an observation, and not a jab made at his expense.

His relief did not last long, however.

“That’s because Temenos is a great storyteller,” said Ochette with a smile. “He knows all kinds of stuff! Did you know, Master Juvah, that humans read bedtime stories to their babies to soothe them? It works really well. Even I fall asleep sometimes when Temenos reads to us—he’s really good at it!”

The inquisitor breathed a deep, weary sigh. Truly, if there was anyone in their group who could push him to the edge of embarrassment, it was Ochette. Sometimes he wondered if she even understood the concept, given her extreme lack of tact in most situations. He couldn’t exactly admonish her for it, because it’s not like what she had said wasn’t true, but at the very least she could have phrased it better instead of making his “storytelling” sound boring and sleep-inducing.

Although, to be fair, he did agree that several of the histories were rather tedious when it came to reading; some of them had definitely put him to sleep when he was younger as well. Thus the reason he had turned them into paper plays for the children. Easier to teach when the medium was colorful and interesting.

Temenos opened his mouth to say something, ready to direct the conversation away from such an awkward topic (awkward for him, anyway), when a muffled laugh suddenly reached his ears. From someone he hadn’t been expecting.

He looked over to his left, his eyes narrowing as he saw Crick with a hand pressed to his mouth and mirth playing across his face, attempting to disguise his laughter as a cough. Clearly he found this amusing, and while the cleric tried to give him an unimpressed look, he got the feeling that it was thoroughly ruined by the tiny sea serpent still nuzzling his cheek.

“And just what are you laughing at, little lamb?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

Crick’s response was followed by another soft chuckle, dampened though it was by his hand. He was clearly enjoying himself with this, and much to the inquisitor’s chagrin, Temenos knew that he couldn’t be too indignant about it due to how many times he had found amusement at the expense of others, especially his dear knight. However, that certainly didn’t stop him from shooting the man a slight glare, or as much of one as he could considering the circumstances.

(Even if he did rather like the way amusement looked on his Godsblade’s face).

“Mrao?”

Temenos schooled his expression into something less irritated and glanced over at Acta, who had stopped with the show of affection for now and was instead looking longingly at the skewer of food that he held in his left hand.

Gods, he was never going to hear the end of this... No matter what choice he made, he would never hear the end of it.

Another chuckle, this time from Throné.

“You may as well give in, Temenos,” she said. “There’s no point in pretending you’re not a pushover.”

He shot her a look but ultimately did as she said.

“Very well,” he sighed as he pulled the top piece of meat off and gave it to Acta, who plucked it from his fingers with a pleased sound. In truth, he didn’t mind sharing, and if he ran out of food before both of them were satisfied, he could surely convince someone to go and fetch him more so that he wouldn’t have to dislodge the little serpent. Being nice did have its perks.

They all ate in a comfortable silence for a moment, but silence never tended to last long among them. There was a matter that needed to be addressed, after all, and in the end it was Hikari who broached the subject.

“Ochette,” he began, “now that we have all had a chance to rest, would you mind telling us what happened last night? We’ve only heard a little about the battle that took place. Just what did you encounter in the forest?”

The hunter’s expression fell a bit, her gaze becoming distant, but with a nod of her head, she put her meal aside for a moment and relayed the story of what happened.

She told them about making her way to the cliff face, about encountering a beast from her past, lājackal: the one that she didn’t choose when she picked Mahina to be her partner. She told them the sad truth of how it had probably been tortured for years, its body covered in scars, reeking of sorrow and malice, a hatred that had grown and festered until it had consumed everything else. At one point it had knocked her and Mahina off the cliff and into the ocean, only for them to survive and eventually put an end to the tragic tale that had started so long ago—started with such an innocent, unassuming choice.

No wonder they had all looked so tired upon returning to the clearing. It had not simply been the long night or the battle itself that had drained them.

“There is...one thing I don’t really understand though,” she said, her brow furrowing. “When Mahina and I fell into the ocean, something strange happened. I heard a voice calling to me—not out loud, but more...in my head, I guess. And when it did, a blue flame suddenly flared in my chest. I’ve been wondering what it was. It felt...kind of familiar.”

...A blue flame?

“That, I suspect, was the First Flame,” said Juvah.

“The First Flame?”

The warden nodded, but Temenos only heard the rest of his words vaguely as the term “first flame” stuck in his head, because he had definitely heard that moniker before. While he did not have the histories memorized to the degree that many of his fellow clerics would have probably liked, to the degree that both Roi and the pontiff had, he still remembered a good deal and quickly began making the connection.

Blue flames were always associated with the Sacred Flame, which at one point in time had been referred to as the “First Flame.” Could that be what Juvah was referring to as well? Was Toto’haha ancient enough and so separated from the church that the change in terminology was never made? Or was he talking about something else entirely? Perhaps on Toto’haha, they had their own legends that revolved around a blue flame. That would be quite the coincidence though.

“Something wrong, Detective?” asked Throné. “You have that look on your face like you’re trying to solve something.”

“I...yes, I suppose that is the case,” he replied as he turned his attention to Juvah and Ochette. He might as well ask; he wasn’t going to get anywhere otherwise. “I was wondering about the First Flame you mentioned. What is it exactly?”

“It is a legend, passed down by my forebearers,” said Juvah. “The First Flame has existed since time immemorial, and while I have never seen it myself, it is said to safeguard the island. In the past, there have been those acknowledged and accepted by the Flame, just like Ochette. It is proof of one’s spirit and their ability to protect Toto’haha.”

“Since time immemorial...” That certainly was familiar. “In many of the older texts, the Sacred Flame is often referred to as the First Flame—a blue flame that has burned for an eternity, never going out. The Fellsun Ruins also mentioned an ‘azure flame.’ I wonder if they could all be the same, if they are all just different ways of referring to the Sacred Flame. I find it hard to believe at this point that it is merely a coincidence.”

“Oh!” Ochette exclaimed, looking like she had just realized something herself. “Now that I think about it, the voice I heard was kind of familiar too. It reminded me of when I...”

She trailed off, glancing toward her master briefly before her gaze drifted over the rest of them, a serious look settling on that usually carefree face.

“Hey, can we tell Master Juvah?” she asked, and Temenos immediately understood what she was talking about even before she tried to subtly explain. “You know, about the whole...thing? The important thing? With all of us?”

The inquisitor shared a look with Throné and Osvald, the two more skeptical members of their group. Hikari and Partitio probably wouldn’t mind in this situation, while Castti and Agnea weren’t around to offer their opinion, unfortunately. This was...not exactly something they talked about openly, and they would definitely have to be careful so that no one else overheard, but...in truth, he didn’t really see a problem with it. They had told Crick, albeit accidentally, and that had turned out to be alright. Juvah didn’t really seem like the type to spill other people’s secrets or take a matter such as this lightly, and he was clearly familiar with some lore even if it wasn’t directly associated with the scripture.

It would probably be okay to tell him.

Osvald and Throné seemed to have arrived at that conclusion as well.

“I don’t see why not,” said the thief while the scholar offered a nod, and so Temenos (after being reminded that he was supposed to be feeding the little creature on his shoulder, offering Acta another piece of meat) looked to the beastling and gave her a smile.

“Go ahead, Ochette. We shall inform Castti and Agnea of this decision later.”

With an excited smile, the hunter wasted no time telling her teacher about the altars and the gods, about how she had been chosen by the Huntress Draefendi, how all of them had been chosen, and like the wise creature that he obviously was, Juvah took it all in stride. Temenos got the feeling that he was probably used to Ochette’s particular style of storytelling after helping to raise her for the past twenty years. There was also probably very little that could truly shock him after how much he had surely witnessed in his life.

“I see...” he eventually said, sounding rather pleased, perhaps even proud of his apprentice. “I knew that the voice I heard in my heart spoke truly when it told me to raise you as a hunter. To be chosen by the Flame in such a way... You have truly grown, apprentice mine. Though I know not what awaits you on this path, know that I have faith in you. The island could not have asked for a finer guardian.”

The beastling gave a soft laugh, sounding quite happy with the praise, before saying, “Thanks, Master Juvah! I promise to do my best to protect Toto’haha. Although it...might be a while before I return home again. We’ve still got a lot of stuff to do, and we all promised to help each other out. Hopefully the village can get by without me for a little longer.”

“We shall manage,” he assured her. “Now that the Night of the Scarlet Moon has passed and we have struck a peaceful accord with the humans, there should be little to worry about.”

“Do you believe that ‘peaceful accord’ will last?” asked Throné, more curious than cynical, surprisingly. “Their behavior before the battle didn’t really paint a very attractive picture.”

“I believe it will,” Juvah stated. “There is something...different about Cohazeh. It is almost as if the greed that drove her, that darkness within her heart, was purged during the battle. As if eyes long closed were now open. I have learned over the years that humans are capable of both selfish and selfless acts, though it is sadly the former that often drives them. I never thought that we would reach an agreement, and yet here we are. To think that something good would come of that calamity...”

“It was pretty surprisin’,” agreed Partitio as he swallowed his current mouthful of meat and vegetables. “But Ochette kept tellin’ us that Cohazeh was a good person deep down. Sometimes all it takes for folks to get along is to work together for a common cause. Maybe she finally realized just how lucky she is to have you lot as neighbors.”

“Indeed,” said Hikari with a nod of his head. “If only everyone could learn to live together as peacefully as the beastlings. From what I have seen, it almost seems as if there is no greed or animosity in them at all.”

“Because there isn’t,” stated Juvah. “Unlike humans, they do not hate or steal, nor do they live dishonestly. They do not weigh others’ lives in terms of value or think only of what might benefit themselves. That is how it has always been. Beastlings live in harmony with the world, rather than constantly seeking to demand more from it.”

“Such is human nature,” Temenos agreed with a sigh. “Though I do hope the humans here have learned their lesson, as you said. We have seen what slipping too far down that path can do to a person, and while the Shadow is essentially sealed away, there is no telling how much influence it might still have. Hopefully the darkness truly has been driven out. After all, it would seem that the Shadow—”

—manifests in our worst instincts: anger, hatred, resentment, and jealousy, to name a few.

The inquisitor felt his breath catch as his eyes widened, the words echoing in his head before he could say them himself. It seemed so long ago now, that day in Flamechurch, a day that had started out so normally only for everything to fall apart. He often tried not to think about it too deeply, because sometimes it still hurt when he did.

Perhaps that was why it had taken him so long to make the connection.

Temenos barely even noticed as he slipped into thought this time, as the world around him fell away, fading into the background until all he was left with was himself and the truth.

The pieces were all there, right before him. He simply needed to line them up.

Best to start at the beginning.

“We are all born with shadow inside us.” Mindt had said those words after his play. They came directly from the scripture.

“But the Sacred Flame drives theses shadows away, leading us to the light.” Those words were also from the scripture, albeit paraphrased. Human beings were born with both shadow and flame, a metaphor for dark and light, a simple way to depict the two sides of human nature. Religion was meant to explain existence. He had always thought that it was nothing more than that.

Perhaps he had been wrong. Perhaps it wasn’t just a metaphor after all.

“The Shadow is everything. It exists all throughout this world. It is with you while you sleep. It is with you while you fight for survival. It is with you always.”

The words that Kaldena had spoken to him... No wonder they were so familiar. They were an echo of the Order of the Sacred Flame’s teachings, of what Mindt had told the children, of what he himself had read during his many days of pouring over the scriptures. It was something that he knew but had never put much thought into, which was true for a lot of the church’s doctrine, because he wasn’t the type to believe things blindly, always taking the histories with several grains of salt. He knew better than to put too much trust into the things that he couldn’t verify with his own eyes, but the fact of the matter was that he had now verified it, had watching two people seek out the Shadow for their own selfish purposes, one driven by a deep envy and the other by an all-consuming hatred and a desire for revenge. He had watched it rise up and devour them as they attempted to bend its power to their will, but you could not bend such an abstract force, something so rooted in the negative desires of the human heart.

A source so boundless, limitless... One that would exist for as long as humanity did.

...A source, huh?

That was familiar too.

“All things in this world have a source. Nothing begets nothing.”

It was something that Osvald had said to them when they had asked him questions about the seventh source and the One True Magic, long before he had found the answer.

Harvey had believed that the Shadow was the seventh source. In some ways, perhaps he hadn’t been wrong. The Shadow drew power from the darker parts of a person’s heart, which indeed made it limitless just like Osvald had theorized that the One True Magic was, but Temenos believed that the answer Osvald had found was the right one, proven by the fact that he had been the one to emerge victorious from that fight.

The scholar’s assistant, Lady Clarissa, had told him that the source of the power he had found was love. Honestly, it sounded like the moral of some trite fairytale or fable, but upon further consideration, it might not be that far off the mark. If the power of the Shadow came from humanity’s worst instincts, then...perhaps the One True Magic was only feasible in the absence of them? For most, such a thing would be impossible—it was hard to push away those types of feelings completely. After all, even self-righteous anger was still “anger” at its core. For a man like Oslvad, however, whose mind worked in absolutes and was rooted in logic and mathematics, a feat such as that was entirely possible. His focus was unparalleled at times, and during his final confrontation with Harvey, he had fully abandoned everything—his revenge, his hatred—aside from a pure, unselfish desire to protect Elena. There had been no room in him for anything else.

...Was that the answer? Not just love, but...an absence of the darkness? Of the Shadow?

Maybe he would discuss it with him later. There was a lot to consider.

And if a heart could in fact exist fully without those darker instincts, without the Shadow, then was that where humans and beastlings differed? Aside from their physical differences, of course. According to Juvah, there was no darkness in them. They weren’t like humans. Had that been D’arqest’s intention when he created them? The Archmage had done a lot of horrible things in the past—crushed entire nations, unleashed the Shadow upon the world—but maybe all of that had been done for the sake of experimentation, for the purpose of finding the seventh source. He had been obsessed with magic and the power that could be derived from it, and while his actions were inexcusable (satisfying personal ambitions and curiosity should never come at the cost of people’s lives), perhaps the beastlings owed their existence to one such experiment. Perhaps he had done it not just to punish the humans for their greed at the time but simply to see what would happen, if there was power in absence of the Shadow.

An interesting theory, if nothing else.

So the Shadow...the Shadow existed all throughout the world. It existed in every human, every beast, but probably not the beastlings. It was written about in scripture, how every human carried both shadow and flame inside them, and how the Sacred Flame was capable of driving those shadows away and leading people to the light. The source of the “flame” within people was the Sacred Flame, the First Flame, carried by the Flamebringer Aelfric and bestowed as a gift upon the world—while the source of the “shadow,” the darkness within people was...

...Vide.

The dark god Vide.

(In hindsight, perhaps he shouldn’t have written so many of those stories off as pure hyperbole after all).

Was that what they were up against? Was that what the forces lurking in the background were trying to do—the leader of the Moonshade Order, the people working with Harvey, and whoever else might have been involved in Kaldena’s crimes?

He didn’t know. The answers were there, somewhere, but he couldn’t find them. Not yet. For now, he would simply have to be satisfied with the connection he had made, the answer to the question of why Kaldena’s words had been so familiar to him.

He needed more pieces of the puzzle before he could continue. A shame, that.

As Temenos slowly came back to himself, the first thing he felt was something pushing rather insistently against his cheek before the pressure was suddenly taken away.

“Acta, I’ve told you before not to bother Temenos when he’s thinking. Have some patience. Here, I’ll share some of my food with you, so no sulking, alright?”

“Mrao!”

The inquisitor opened his eyes and found that Ochette had taken Acta from his shoulder, currently feeding part of her second shish kabab to the little sea serpent. Most of the others, however, were staring rather intently at him. Understandable, he supposed—that had definitely been one of his more abrupt moments of contemplation. He generally didn’t dismiss himself like that during conversations.

“Welcome back, Temenos,” said Crick as the knight offered him a skewer, the one that he had clearly forgotten about and had probably almost dropped upon slipping into thought.

“My thanks,” he said as he took it, though he made no move to eat, his head still too full with everything he had realized. There was still so much to sort out.

“You alright, Detective?” asked Throné. “You kind of stopped talking in the middle of a sentence.”

“It looked as though you had realized something,” Osvald added, because of course he would’ve noticed, observant man that he was. “I take it this has to do with the Shadow?”

“...It does, yes.” There was little point in keeping the potential truth he had stumbled upon to himself, although he did plan on withholding some of his speculation. The part about the One True Magic would be better off discussed in private, especially since that conversation was guaranteed to be a long one given Osvald’s penchant for debate. The rest, however, he may as well share.

The inquisitor took a deep breath and continued.

“Do you remember what Kaldena said to me during our battle? I have been unable to shake the feeling that her words were familiar, and just now I realized why that was. A colleague of mine had said something similar. ‘We are all born with shadow inside us.’ She was quoting the scripture. One of the core teachings of the church is that humanity is born with both flame and shadow, light and darkness. It is a simple way to explain the dichotomy of human nature, and I have always believed it to be nothing more than that, but after what we have witnessed, I do not think that I can simply write it off anymore. There may actually be some truth to it after all. A blue flame flared to life within Ochette, and if my memory serves, didn’t...”

He looked over at Throné, another connection forming.

“Didn’t Alpates say that she could see a flame burning within us?”

The thief’s eyes widened a bit before her brow furrowed, clearly recalling the incident. The two of them hadn’t dwelled on it much, each for their own reasons, but now it all seemed like a rather important observation.

Not just hyperbole... Perhaps he should go back through the histories, all of them, with that new understanding in mind. Once he could find the time to, of course. It wasn’t exactly an option right now.

“In the scripture,” he continued, “the word ‘flame’ almost always refers to the Sacred Flame, what is said to be the source of all light, left behind by the gods to purge the shadows from our world. And the source of those shadows—the Shadow, if you will—is the dark god Vide. It is entirely possible that that is what we are dealing with, the reason why the eight of us were chosen. I suppose the gods would not have intervened if the threat was not a dire one...”

His words were met with a variety of different reactions: contemplation, disbelief, severity. In truth, they had all known that there had to be a reason they were blessed, a reason that the gods had chosen them, but none of them had really put much thought into what that reason might be, what they would be expected to face. After all, there was little point in worrying about the unknown, in wasting time trying to figure it out when they all had so many other things to be doing.

“You really think we might have to face a god?” asked Throné, and while she did sound a bit skeptical, there was no fear in her question. Not surprising. She had already struck down a man who claimed to be immortal, so why not a god as well? There was nothing she wouldn’t face to achieve her goals.

“Or perhaps we are simply expected to prevent the resurrection of one,” suggested Hikari, who was definitely taking this seriously (also not surprising). “I’ve heard you tell this story before, Temenos. The dark god was sealed away by the other eight. Maybe we only need to stop those who would see it released.”

“That does sounds a lot easier than havin’ to fight a god,” agreed Partitio, only to follow it up with a smile as he said, “Though I gotta admit, the idea is kinda excitin’. We’d probably be in for one heck of a brawl.”

“I know, right?” said Ochette with an even bigger smile. “I’ve always loved a challenge!”

Next to him, he could hear Crick sigh before saying in a rather put-upon tone, “Please take this more seriously. Fighting a god is surely no simple feat.”

The sentiment seemed to be echoed by both Juvah and Osvald, who nodded in agreement. Logical, those two, but personally, Temenos found the levity rather refreshing when compared to his earlier thoughts. And besides...

“Keep in mind that this is all merely speculation,” he said. “I am simply relaying to you my own thoughts on the matter and what I remember from the scripture. Honestly, I have never put much faith in the church’s doctrine, but neither do I put much faith in coincidence. I have a hard time believing that everything we have faced so far is unrelated. I would be a fool not to give the matter at least some consideration.”

“I suppose we can discuss it more later, once we’re all together,” said Throné. “Castti and Agnea will want to know about this too.”

“Indeed. For now, let us try to enjoy our breakfast, shall we? Although, I may need another skewer seeing as how I fed much of mine to Acta. You certainly can eat a lot for such a small thing, can’t you?”

The little serpent just sat there in Ochette’s lap, devouring yet another piece of meat and looking quite pleased with itself.

“I’m probably going to need another one too,” said the hunter, looking at her own skewer rather sadly. “Ma gave me too many vegetables... I wanted one with more meat, but she always insists that I need to eat a ‘balanced diet.’”

Next to her, he could hear Juvah sigh, probably agreeing with Castti, and while Temenos kind of agreed with her too, he was not above offering a way around the issue.

“That problem can easily be solved by asking someone else to get one for you,” he said, and while he knew that both Hikari and Partitio would do it if asked, the inquisitor instead looked to the knight sitting at his side.

The look he was met with was a confused one at first, but as soon as the realization dawned, it became something both unimpressed and resigned. He knew that Crick was perfectly capable of saying no to him in most situations, but he also knew that the knight generally only said no when he disagreed or believed that Temenos was being particularly unreasonable or lazy about something. While the latter was technically true in this situation (he was being lazy), given what happened during the battle earlier, he was pretty sure his Godsblade would agree to fetch them more food.

“Crick, would you mind...?”

“Very well,” the man sighed as he got to his feet, not even waiting for Temenos to finish his question. “I was almost done with mine anyway. However, I will not hear any complaints about what kind I bring you.”

“You have my word, little lamb.”

Ochette, however, looked a bit disappointed by that, which the knight was quick to notice. Some of the sternness left his expression as he told the beastling, “I’ll...try to make sure yours has mostly meat, Ochette.”

He was rewarded with a beaming smile.

“Thanks! You’re a nice guy, Crick.”

Favoritism. He was absolutely calling favoritism (not that he wouldn’t have promised the same in Crick’s position. Ochette was just far too endearing sometimes).

As the knight began to walk away, Temenos suddenly felt a pair of eyes on him, and knowing exactly who that gaze belonged to due to having been under its scrutiny several times before, he turned to look at his dear assistant. Her expression was that of someone trying very hard to remain deadpan even as the corner of her mouth quirked upward in amusement.

“Do you have something to say, Throné?”

“No.”

Somehow he doubted that, but if she didn’t want to tell him her thoughts, then she wouldn’t, no matter how much he needled her. Whatever entertainment she had found, it seemed that she intended to keep it to herself. That was probably for the best, actually. He would rather not be subjected to even more teasing after what Ochette had said about him earlier. Best not to poke at such things.

For now, he would leave her be.

(He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know anyway).

“Thanks for helping out, Crick. You know you didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to. Both you and Castti put a lot of work into this, and I kept having to bother you for additional food. It’s the least I can do.”

“It’s not like that was your fault. Ochette can be really hard to say no to sometimes. And after everything she went through last night, I think it was alright to spoil her a bit.”

He had to agree, even though it wasn’t just Ochette that he had been catering to all morning. At some point during their very long breakfast, Temenos had taken over feeding the tiny sea serpent Acta again, resulting in him sending Crick to get more food for a second time because gods forbid that he be forced to do it himself and dislodge the little creature from its perch on his shoulder. After the fourth time, however, the knight had been very tempted to say something, but when combined with Ochette’s hopeful looks at the promise of more food, he just hadn’t been able to decline.

And in truth, it’s not like he had really minded. Considering just how much both the cleric and hunter had been through over the past few days, they deserved a chance to relax. If that meant running back and forth to get food for them, then so be it. A simple enough kindness, one that he was more than capable of doing. And now he was helping Agnea and Castti clean up, because they had done so much already, so it was only fair that someone pitch in. There hadn’t been anything else for him to do anyway. Dismantling all of their makeshift cooking stations was a decent enough use of his spare time. It was certainly better than just standing around, at least.

As he began taking apart another campfire, he casually listened to the sounds and conversations happening around him. He could hear the children laughing, Cohazeh and Juvah discussing things like farming and joint hunting parties, Throné talking to Osvald, Hikari, and Partitio about possibly exploring the nearby ruins for a spot of treasure hunting, and—

“By the way, Ochette, there was something I had wanted to ask you.”

Why was it that Temenos’s voice was so easy for him to pick out, that it always seemed to just cut through all the rest? Unable to help himself, he raised his head, abandoning his task for a moment (only for a moment, he told himself), and looked over to where the inquisitor was standing with Ochette.

...There was still a little blue serpent sitting on his shoulder. Even though he was walking around. Crick couldn’t help but feel a little indignant about that—clearly there had been no reason to worry about dislodging the baby, Temenos could have gotten them both food by himself—but rather than giving in and becoming irritated by it, he took a breath and instead decided to listen to what the cleric and hunter were saying.

“I have noticed that the island’s beastlings seem to struggle with language somewhat.”

“That’s true, but they have good hearts.”

“Oh, yes, I can tell. Incidentally, where did you learn to talk, Ochette?”

“From Master Juvah! He’s not just my hunting teacher—he taught me how to speak too. He said I’d need to know both to protect the island.”

“A wise teacher indeed. A common language is what allows us to share our thoughts. One day, once this whole mess we’ve been dragged into is finally over, I will find the time to teach the beastlings here to speak as well.”

“Wow, really? Thank you!”

“No need to thank me. It’s for my own benefit. I’d like to be able to chat with them too, you see.”

“Heh heh, gotcha!”

Honestly, this man... Always disguising kindness behind self-interest, even though it was obvious to anyone who knew him that he was a good person deep down, that it wasn’t just for himself that he would do something as time-consuming as teaching an entire village how to speak in the common tongue.

Crick could feel himself smiling. He simply couldn’t help it. This would be one of the many reasons why his irritation and frustration with Temenos never seemed to last all that long. One minute he was coercing Crick into bringing him more food out of sheer laziness and the next he was doing something like this. He was such a fascinating person, and the knight’s smile only widened when he saw the cleric casually reach up and brush a finger lightly along Acta’s head, the serpent nuzzling against his cheek again in what could only be described as affection.

It was endearing. Everything about what he had just witnessed was incredibly endearing.

Everything about Temenos was—

A bright giggle suddenly pulled him from his thoughts.

Startled, he looked over at Agnea—who he had, to be perfectly honest, completely forgotten was there. He could tell that her smile was wide even though it was partially hidden behind her hand, and there was definitely something delighted in those pale blue eyes. For some reason she looked genuinely happy, beaming at him even as an apology fell from her lips.

“Ah, sorry!” she said, somehow sounding sincere about it even though she was still smiling. “I wasn’t laughing at you, I promise. It’s just...”

Her gaze drifted over to Temenos and Ochette before eventually settling back on him.

“You really like him, don’t you?”

...It sounded like a question.

It very much sounded like a question.

But in reality it was not a question—Crick knew that it wasn’t a question—and unfortunately, as much as he would have preferred it to be otherwise, he wasn’t oblivious enough not to know who she meant. Or a skilled enough liar to pretend that he didn’t.

Instead, what fell from his lips was, “I-I...that’s not...um...”

Smooth.

Another giggle, though her laughter was not unkind.

“There’s no need to be so embarrassed,” she said, something soft and almost comforting in her voice. “I think it’s really sweet. That look on your face was positively adoring, Crick.”

“Ador—”

Oh gods...

Gods, was that really how he had... Was that the kind of look that had been on his...

Surely Agnea was just seeing things or misinterpreting his expression. There was no way that he had been... He had just thought that it was endearing, the idea of Temenos teaching the beastlings how to speak, reading to them, maybe even performing a paper play. Clearly such a thought had nothing to do with...with... Yes, okay, he was rather fond of Temenos, he could admit it, because it would be a lie to try and claim otherwise, but they were friends, colleagues, two people who were trying to find the truth, who were going to do everything they could to weed out the corruption hiding within the church. The inquisitor was his charge, someone that he had vowed to protect, someone that he had pledged his loyalty to, someone that he simply liked spending time with and wanted to keep as a part of his life.

Seriously, that was it.

(“That” was a lot of things, the voice in the back of his head whispered. He chose to ignore it).

Agnea thankfully took pity on him by not saying anything else, getting called away shortly after to help with another area, but the damage was already done. He was pretty sure that his entire face was bright red.

And his thoughts were a complete mess.

...She was wrong.

She had to be wrong.

Yes, he liked Temenos—he would not have chosen to follow him otherwise. He respected him, admired him, believed in him, wanted to do everything he could to help him, planned on remaining at his side even when this journey was over, but...that was normal, right? Temenos was the inquisitor, and Crick wanted to join the Inquisition. He had sworn an oath to him as his Godsblade.

He was the inquisitor’s Godsblade. There was nothing abnormal about that.

The two of them shared a common goal. They were friends. They both valued the truth. There was nothing more to it than that.

Right?

...He stole another glance at the cleric. He watched as he lowered himself to one knee amongst a group of children, an action that Crick knew was meant to make them feel seen and important and heard. Just like he had with that little girl in the Nameless Village.

Just like he did with so many people.

(The rush of fondness that flooded his chest was almost unbearable).

The knight shook his head, and with a great deal of effort, he did what he always did when he didn’t know how to deal with something and didn’t have the time to figure it out: put it aside for later. He was past the point of trying to pretend or lie to himself—that had stopped being an option when everything fell apart in Stormhail—but that didn’t mean he had to deal with things he didn’t want to.

What Agnea had said to him definitely fell into that category.

He and Temenos were friends. There really was nothing more to it than that.

It was perfectly normal to be fond of your friends.

With his mind made up (though certainly far from settled), Crick got back to work. There was a lot left to do yet, in more ways than one.

He couldn’t afford to be distracted.

Chapter Text

It took three days after the Night of the Scarlet Moon for their group of nine to finally make it back to the harbor. In truth, however, the journey itself had not taken that long at all, barely even half a day, but there were several reasons, some practical and some not, as to why they had spent so much time in Beasting Village.

The first, Crick had come to learn, was that Temenos had apparently promised Throné a spot a treasure hunting during a conversation they’d had back in Montwise. Or at least the thief had chosen to take his words as a promise.

“I said ‘perhaps’ we could take some time to explore. That hardly counts, Throné.”

“Well, I’m choosing to count it. Osvald, Hikari, and Partitio already agreed to come with me. It’s not like we’re doing anything right now anyway.”

“That is not the case for some of us.”

“So you’re just jealous then.”

“...”

“Don’t give me that look, Detective. It isn’t my fault you have to write several letters. I’ll bring you back a souvenir if we find anything interesting, so stop sulking, alright? Aren’t you a little old for that?”

It never failed to impress him, the way Throné could render the indomitable inquisitor silent with just a handful of words. He had always considered Temenos hard to read, but she clearly had no problem picking up on his moods and then using that information to verbally jab at him. They really did feel like a pair of siblings sometimes. He rather enjoyed getting to bear witness to their banter.

The second reason they had remained in the village was the one that Throné had pointed out: Temenos had several letters to write now that his investigation was over, some of which he had needed to finish before reaching the harbor and setting sail towards their next objective. It was difficult to write while walking, after all; best to get all of that out of the way prior to their departure.

Which led to the third reason for the delay: meeting up with what remained of Kaldena’s retinue at the harbor. Before leaving the Nameless Village, Temenos had asked the knights what their intentions were despite already knowing that they would be returning to Stormhail. Ort had said that they would be heading back to the harbor once the danger had passed, and after coming up with an approximation of how long it would take them, the inquisitor had said that he would meet them there and asked that they wait if they arrived early because he had an additional request to make. Even though he had chosen not to elaborate on said request. Sometimes he wondered if Temenos withheld information simply because he enjoyed being cryptic. Honestly, he wouldn’t put it past him.

And then the fourth and final reason why they had dawdled so long was a very, very simple one: rest. All of them had needed a moment to rest. Taking the appropriate time to recuperate was just as important as pressing forward with their goals. It wouldn’t do to wear themselves out, to move directly on to their next destination, even if they were sort of on a set schedule with more than a few daunting time limits.

The most pressing matter at the moment was getting Agnea to Merry Hills in time for the Grand Gala, which was only a week away. With that understanding, one would’ve thought that they would be in more of a rush given that the town was located on the most southeastern part of the eastern continent, but the travelers had come up with a somewhat...unorthodox plan after leaving Montwise.

Said plan was something that Crick had been and still was a little skeptical of, because most people—with perhaps the exception of some smugglers—usually only docked their ships at designated harbors. It was safer that way. That was not going to be the case this time, however.

Partitio had been the one to suggest it.

To make a long story short, they had realized just how close they would be cutting some of their objectives, and so on the night before they boarded their ship at the New Delsta harbor, the eight travelers had spent a good hour or so pouring over a map of Solistia and coming up with a plan. As someone who had no real say in where they went or when, he had simply listened to the discussion with varying degrees of concern.

“We should be able to manage it,” Temenos had said. “If we can leave as soon as our business is concluded on Toto’haha, then we should reach Merry Hills with a single day to spare, provided the weather is favorable. If not, I believe we could still make it if we traveled straight through the night once or twice on the walk there. Better to do so in the Brightlands, if it becomes necessary—the Crestlands can be rather perilous at night when you get farther up into the mountains.”

“That’s not exactly ideal,” Throné had pointed out. “While I enjoy a game of chance as much as the next person, we’d be betting on a lot of things that are out of our control. Isn’t there another option?”

“I’m afraid not. The Crestlands, due to their rather rocky terrain, do not have a harbor.”

“That’s a real shame,” Partitio had lamented. “It’d be so much easier to transport goods like that—plus it would cut our travel time by a lot if we could just sail the whole way. Actually...lookin’ at this here map, couldn’t we just... Temenos, you’re pretty familiar with the Crestlands, right?”

“To an extent.”

“What about this spot here? It looks like there’s a river that flows out into the ocean.”

“There is, but I fail to see how that’s relevant. There is still no harbor.”

“Well, who says we need a harbor? We could just drop anchor 'round here ‘n’ use a few rowboats to reach the river. Simple, right?”

They had all just sort of looked at him for a moment.

“...That’s not a bad idea,” Osvald had eventually said, a sentiment that had been echoed by Hikari and Agnea, only for Throné to bring up something that Crick hadn’t understood at the time, and to be perfectly honest he still didn’t quite understand it.

“Don’t you remember what happened the last time we sailed too close to this strait? Do you really want to deal with that...thing again?”

“Ah, I’m sure there’s nothin’ to worry about. It’s probably long gone by now after the beatin’ we gave it.”

In hindsight, he should’ve asked what “it” was, but at the time he hadn’t been brave enough to say anything, especially since they had eventually decided to go along with Partitio’s plan, for better or worse. While Temenos’s knowledge of the southern part of the Crestlands wasn’t as detailed due to having only been there a couple of times, he had been fairly certain that the river Partitio had spotted was traversable and that they would be able to find a spot to disembark that wouldn’t involve having to scale any cliffs. Overall, most of them had seemed fairly optimistic, and Crick had come to learn that this group had a tendency to play a lot of things by ear with the expectation that it would just turn out alright.

Not a bad mindset, but still...having a backup plan would’ve been nice. A bit late for that though. With only a week to make it to Merry Hills, sailing through the strait and crossing the southeastern ocean was the only way. Agnea didn’t seem worried about it. Perhaps he would take a page out of her book and simply believe that they would make it with time to spare.

He would offer up a prayer to Sealticge though, just in case.

As they approached the rather modest harbor of Toto’haha, Crick’s gaze wandered to the only other ship currently stationed there apart from their own. However, it wasn’t so much the Sacred Guard’s ship that he was interested in but the people who would be boarding it, and sure enough, their timing had been impeccable.

Standing near the gangplank, watching as his fellow knights made it onto the ship, was Ort. From a distance, he looked to be perfectly fine, and hopefully that was indeed the case. Hopefully they had all been able to manage and hold their own against the monsters that had plagued the island during the Night of the Scarlet Moon. Due to what happened at the rifted rock, all of their armor had been in varying states of disrepair, but damaged armor was still usable and could still protect the owner from claws and talons and fangs (and one technically did not need armor in order to swing a sword. A true knight could certainly make do without).

It was a relief to see his best friend standing there, to know that he was well, and as he and Temenos approached while the others made their way to the Grand Terry to prepare for departure, he couldn’t keep from smiling as he called out, “Ort!”

The other man turned, wearing a smile of his own.

“Ah, Crick! It’s good to see you,” he said. “So, I take it you all made it through that horrible night as well then?”

“We did, though it was certainly a challenge. And what of the Nameless Village? How did all of you fare?”

“We managed, though there were a few close calls. I don’t think some of us were quite ready for what we would face. Those monsters...they were unlike anything I have ever seen. It was as if darkness itself had taken form.”

“An apt description,” said Temenos, “and one that is not that far off from the truth. But I’m afraid that is a story best left untold for now. We’ve not the time nor the luxury, I fear. That being said, are there any injured among you? Seeing as how you all fought at my behest, I could spare a moment to heal any who require it.”

“There were no injuries that required attention. We were quite fortunate, but thank you for the offer, Inquis—Temenos.”

“Ah, I see you remembered.” A smile crossed the inquisitor’s face, clearly pleased at hearing his name over his title as he added, “Then I take it you also remembered why I asked you to wait here for me?”

“Yes,” Ort replied with a nod. “You mentioned some sort of request. What would you have me do?”

Temenos reached for a small bag he had been carrying and pulled two letters from it, the ones he had penned over the last couple of days.

“My request is twofold,” he stated. “I would like you to deliver these letters for me.”

“Letters?” Ort asked, sounding confused even as he took them, flipping them over to see the wax seals with a carefully etched depiction of the Sacred Flame’s image upon them. They were far from official since Temenos did not carry a sealing stamp with him and the wax had simply been from a normal, everyday candle, but they served their purpose well enough. It was the content within, after all, that was the most important.

“Yes,” the cleric replied, pointing first to the one that he had sealed with a blue-dyed wax. “This one is to be delivered to the head cleric at the cathedral in Flamechurch. He took over many of the pontiff’s duties after his passing and is one man among the clergy that I am certain I can trust. The letter details my investigation and some of my plans moving forward, including the pending trial that will eventually take place. Understand that it is meant only for him and is to be delivered by only you, as discretely as possible. If anyone else asks why you are visiting, you are not to tell them anything about me, the letter, or the investigation, no matter who they might be or what they may say. Apart from a few, I do not know who I can trust, and I will not take the risk of this information falling into the wrong hands.”

For a moment, Crick wondered if Ort would question it, would ask why Temenos felt that he couldn’t trust even his fellow clerics with the information he had found, but in the end his friend only gave a solemn nod and accepted the task without question, clearly choosing to believe that this was the best course of action. Recent events probably had a lot to do with that.

It was true that they had to be careful. Temenos was choosing to be cautious as a necessity, because the fact of the matter was that they all could have died at Kaldena’s hands. None of them could afford to put their trust in the wrong people again.

“It shall be done,” Ort said. “You have my word. And what of the second letter?”

“The second one involves a potentially more...difficult task, I’m afraid. I would have you deliver it to one of the senior knights in the Sacred Guard, someone of significantly high rank that you believe can be trusted. Much like the other letter, it contains details of Kaldena’s crimes, my investigation, and the coming trial. If they are of a truly moral character, then they will not shy away from what needs to be done, even if it means that the organization is one day stripped of its authority.”

This time the request was met with surprise as his friend’s eyes widened, looking down at the envelope that bore a golden-hued seal.

“You would...have me choose?” A weighty responsibility, Crick knew, but even though he hadn’t spent as much time around the senior knights as Ort had, what with being Kaldena’s bodyguard and all, he could think of at least a few that could probably be trusted. After all, it’s not like the majority of the knights had been in on their captain’s plans. The more people who knew a secret, the harder it was to keep. That being said, he was no longer naïve enough to believe that her crimes had been the only ones committed, that she was the only knight who had used her position to further her own ends at the cost of others.

(The people of Stormhail had always seemed on edge, keeping their heads down as if they feared something might happen. He understood their behavior so much better now).

They would root out all of it, purge the Sacred Guard of its corruption, its self-interest, and then rebuild it into what it was supposed to be: an organization to protect the people and the church, rather than something to look upon in distrust and fear.

“I would,” Temenos replied, as if it were the most obvious decision in the world (and Crick wondered if his friend realized just how significant that was, to have earned the inquisitor’s trust). “There is in fact no one else I can ask to do this. Due to my, shall we say, ‘strained’ relationship with the Sacred Guard, I am not familiar enough with most of its knights, meaning that I cannot make the decision myself. However, I am sure there must be some who were not under Kaldena’s thumb, and I would ask you to choose the most honorable one.”

Ort’s brow furrowed, a thoughtful look crossing his face as he mulled over the task that had been given to him.

“I...do believe I have a few in mind. Regardless, I promise to handle the matter carefully. I do not intend to misplace my faith again.”

“Wonderful. Then I shall leave this in your hands.”

“And if I may ask, what do you intend to do now? Judging by your words, I take it you shall not be returning to the church anytime soon.”

“You would be correct. We’ve much left to do yet, I fear. For now, we make for Merry Hills through somewhat...unconventional means, and then it shall be off to the western continent for the foreseeable future.”

“A long journey indeed. Then please, allow me to thank you again for what you’ve done. We owe you our lives, and we shall not soon forget it. May the Sacred Flame guide you on your travels, Temenos, wherever they may lead.”

He might’ve been imagining it, but the inquisitor’s smile almost seemed to soften at that familiar sentiment, even if he himself so often said it half-heartedly.

“And you as well, Ort.”

With that customary farewell out of the way, Temenos turned his attention to Crick instead, his grin sharpening just a bit at the edges. That was a little disconcerting, truth be told. He knew to be wary of that look after spending so much time in the man’s presence. That spark of mischief was never a good sign.

“I shall give you time to say your goodbyes, little lamb,” he said, “but do try not to tarry for too long. While we do have some leeway, we are still on a rather tight schedule, after all.”

“I know, Temenos. I will be along shortly.”

The inquisitor took his leave, looking rather satisfied with himself for some reason, and once he was mostly out of earshot, Crick turned his attention to Ort.

“I wanted to...” he began, only to stop upon catching sight of the look on his friend’s face. Confused and perhaps a bit wary, he asked, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

There was a great deal of mirth in those dark eyes, and the corner of his mouth twitched as if he were trying but failing to hide a smile. It was a bit baffling to say the least. For the life of him, Crick didn’t understand what could possibly be so amusing to the point where he was clearly biting back laughter, not until the other knight opened his mouth and said two words.

Just two.

“Little lamb?”

It took a moment to register as he simply blinked at his friend a few times in confusion, but as soon as the realization dawned, heat immediately crawled up his neck and no doubt settled bright upon his face.

Gods, he was...he was actually starting to get used to it, that infernal nickname, to the point where he didn’t even notice that Temenos had used it, not until Ort had pointed it out, looking horribly amused, and the inquisitor had absolutely done that on purpose, hadn’t he—that’s what that mischievous look had been about, that vexing, devious—

He dropped his head into his hands with a very deep sigh.

“I can’t believe he... I have asked him several times not to call me that, but he insists on...”

How was he supposed to explain this? It was embarrassing no matter how he tried to spin it. And worse yet was the fact that regardless of his complaints, he didn’t really mind it anymore, not since that day in Montwise when Temenos had said that he liked lambs, because in some ways it kind of felt like...like a term of endearment now rather than an insult, than a reminder of how he would’ve gotten lost on his first day in Flamechurch (and would have stayed lost in general) if not for the inquisitor.

It made him feel...important, in a sense. Important to Temenos.

But there was no way he was admitting that to Ort.

His best friend still looked incredibly entertained by the whole thing, a quiet chuckle escaping him, but thankfully, much to Crick’s immense relief, he didn’t comment on the matter further.

“So,” he began as some of the mirth faded, “I suppose this is the last time I’ll be seeing you for a while.”

Crick took a deep breath, willed himself to stop blushing (he really needed to work on not becoming so easily flustered), and said as calmly as he could, “I’m afraid so. Our travels will be taking us from one end of Solistia to the other, it seems. I would be lying though if I said that I wasn’t looking forward to it—I have always wanted to see more of the world.”

“I’ll admit I’m a bit jealous in that regard, but I know that the reason you’re doing this is because you want to protect the inquisitor. Stopping Kaldena was only the first part of what needed to be done, and there’s no telling how far her reach was, who all she might have been working with. The danger is far from over, I fear, and so I will be praying for your continued safety in the weeks to come. Be careful out there, alright?”

“You as well,” he replied, because Ort’s words were the truth. He knew that this was far from over, that they had a long road ahead of them yet, and that all three of them now carried a target upon their backs. The numbers (because he very much believed that those who supported Kaldena were fewer than those who were ignorant of her schemes) were on their side, but they were still at a distinct disadvantage all the same. After all, the enemy knew who their allies were, but the same could not be said for the rest of them.

Crick was concerned—he would be a fool not to be—but not about himself.

“You will be returning to a place that holds allies and enemies alike,” he continued. “There is no telling how everyone will react to the news about Kaldena. Please be sure to watch your back. I expect to see you during the trials so that we can both testify to the captain’s and to the Sacred Guard’s crimes.”

With a smile, Ort extended his hand.

“It’s a promise. I give you my word.”

Crick reached out and grasped his friend’s wrist, squeezing tightly, and felt an equal amount of pressure against his own.

A solemn vow to meet again.

“May the Sacred Flame guide you, Ort.”

“And you as well, Crick.”

It was a perfect day for sailing...

The sun was shining, the sky was clear, and there was a lovely breeze blowing in the exact direction they needed it to. The beginning of their six-day voyage was off to a wonderful start.

A shame that it couldn’t remain that way.

“...Uh oh.”

Temenos looked up from the book he had been reading while enjoying a relaxing, quiet afternoon up on the deck (the only one he would probably get given the amount of work there was ahead of him).

Those words, when spoken by Ochette, could technically mean a wide variety of different things. Sometimes it was as simple as having broken a jar in the kitchen or missing a shot while out hunting. Other times it was because something with too many teeth or razor-sharp claws, intent on making a meal out of their group, was approaching. Currently she was standing on the left side of the ship, looking out at the ocean as she leaned over the railing, so his money was unfortunately on the latter.

With a sigh, he closed his book and made his way over, along with everyone else who had been enjoying the fresh sea air.

“What seems to be the matter, Ochette?” he asked.

The beastling looked up at him, her expression a bit nervous, ears twitching, before returning her gaze to the ocean.

“Do you remember that thing we talked about when we were all looking at the map? The thing Throné brought up?”

“I brought up a lot of things,” said Throné as she approached with Partitio, Hikari, and Crick. “Which one are we talking about?”

Ochette pointed to a spot just ahead of them.

“That one.”

As if on cue, the deep blue water began to swirl near the distant rocks (they had been steadily approaching the strait between Toto’haha and the eastern continent) before it rose up in a mound, like some sort of watery hill, only to flow away from a rather large and regrettably familiar-looking monster.

“What...what is that thing?” asked Crick, the only one among them who had never encountered what many a sailor, they had come to find out, had dubbed the Scourge of the Sea.

It really was a massive thing, with glowing white eyes, clawed hands, and a body that almost looked to be cloaked in the very waters it roamed. Definitely one of the more dangerous creatures they had encountered during their travels. Their first battle with it had been...interesting to say the least.

“I think it remembers us,” said Ochette as the monster roared, its voice reaching them even from such a great distance away. “It sounds pretty mad about it too.”

Throné, looking a little irritated, crossed her arms over her chest and quickly rounded on Partitio.

“Nothing to worry about, huh?” she said, parroting his words back at him with a good deal of sarcasm. “It’s probably ‘long gone’ by now, right?”

“Okay, okay, so I was wrong—I’m allowed to be wrong sometimes, aren’t I? How ‘bout instead of pointin’ fingers, we come up with a way to get past that thing. I really don’t want to fight it again—it almost put a hole in our ship!”

“Wait, you’ve actually...” began Crick, his eyes wide in disbelief as he motioned to the monster in the distance with his wooden training sword (he had been in the middle of a sparring match with Hikari before this mess). “You actually fought that thing before? How?”

“With a considerable amount of magic and several soulstones,” Temenos replied. “Remind me to tell you about it later. I personally vote that we run this time. Have Agnea use her wind magic to help speed us along or something.”

“I don’t think we’re fast enough to outrun it,” Throné noted, “but I suppose it’s worth a try. I’ll go get her.”

“Can’t you just use your spell, Temenos?” asked Partitio. “You know, blast it with holy light?”

He sincerely hoped that was a jest.

“Surely you must be joking. That is a terrible idea. I can’t use that while we’re out at sea—you would all be caught up in it.”

“Even if we went below deck?”

“Do you expect me to steer the ship on my own and cast Heavenly Shine? I would also like to note that we would be required to get much closer to it, as I have not yet mastered adjusting the size. No, absolutely not.”

“Then I guess we’ll just have to distract it,” said Ochette with a grin on her face and confidence in her voice. Before any of them could ask what she meant, she turned and ran across the deck until she reached the farthest mast, climbing up to the crow’s nest. Once there, the four of them watched as the hunter sucked in a deep breath, leaned back, and then shouted at the top of her lungs, “Glacis!”

Almost immediately, the air around them changed, becoming colder as the icy guardian who had once resided atop the Sacred Peak Altahe swopped down from high in the sky—so high that none of them had even noticed that she’d been following them while out at sea. In truth, he had assumed that with her task now completed, Ochette would have left the two legendary creatures on Toto’haha to look after it while she was away, but evidently that wasn’t the case.

Glacis truly was a majestic, beautiful creature with feathers that reminded him of sculpted ice and snow. She had been revered as a deity by the people of Stormhail, and he could absolutely understand why. They were lucky indeed to have her on their side.

“Thanks for coming with us,” he heard Ochette say, listening to one side of a conversation (what he wouldn’t give to be able to speak to beasts the way that the beastlings could. He wondered if that was a skill that could potentially be learned). “Do you see that monster out there, that big blue one? Think you can distract it for us? It’s pretty mad because of what happened last time, and we don’t want it hurting our ship, so we need some help slowing it down while we make a run for it.”

It seemed that Glacis had no issue with the request, because after speaking with her master for just a moment more, she took off towards the Scourge of the Sea, which had been steadily making its way towards them as they sailed through the strait.

“There we go,” Ochette said proudly as she descended from the crow’s nest. “Problem solved!”

“I had no idea that Glacis was following us,” said Hikari as the prince looked out over the ocean, watching as the massive bird pelted the sea monster with frigid wind and ice. “Will she be alright on her own? I know there is nothing we can do from such a distance, but...”

“She’ll be fine,” the hunter replied. “Glacis was pretty confident that she could take it. She followed because she was worried that something was going to happen—never underestimate those good old animal instincts.”

“I’ll say,” agreed Partitio. “Gotta remember to thank her once we’re in the clear. Now all that’s left is to get far enough away so that it gives up on chasin’ us.”

It was at that moment that Throné returned with Agnea in tow, followed by Castti and Osvald, who had clearly come just in case they were needed, in case the plan failed and they were forced to fight the Scourge of the Sea once again. Thankfully it seemed like that wouldn’t be the case. Glacis was holding her own just fine (she had a distinct advantage, being airborne as she was), dodging out of the way of each attack and bombarding the creature with ice, wind, and lightning. She kept its attention flawlessly as Agnea used her wind magic to help speed them along, creating powerful gusts to propel their ship quickly through the strait and hopefully into safer waters.

Agnea didn’t stop casting until they could no longer see the two beasts battling upon the ocean, at which point it became rather obvious that she was running low on spirit. The dancer breathed a deep sigh of relief as she sat down after being told that they were in the clear, wiping the sweat that had begun to bead on her brow from the exertion.

“I’ve never used that much magic before in one go,” she said before looking up, her gaze eventually falling on the inquisitor. “I think I’m starting to understand how it must’ve felt for you, Temenos. I barely did anything and I’m exhausted.”

“You did plenty, my dear,” he replied. “No one else could have propelled our ship along as you did. Thanks to you and Glacis, we have been spared from what would’ve been a rather trying battle. Your skill with wind magic is truly a gift. We are in your debt.”

She offered him a pleased smile even as her cheeks flushed from the praise as she said, “I wouldn’t go that far. I am the reason we’re traveling this way, after all.”

“Well, all’s well that ends well, I reckon,” said Partitio. “It should be smooth sailin’ from here on out.”

Throné gave the merchant a look, clearly skeptical.

“I think maybe I’ll keep watch for a bit, just to be sure,” she said.

“A sound suggestion,” agreed Osvald. “We haven’t sailed across this part of the ocean before. It wouldn’t do to be caught off guard.”

And so Throné, along with Ochette and Mahina, because the beastling insisted on keeping the thief company (and because her eyesight was considerably better than most), made their way up the crow’s nest while Castti mixed up a plum leaf concoction for Agnea and everyone else returned to what they had been doing.

Except for him, unfortunately, because Osvald was quick to remind him about what they had discussed back in the Nameless Village and insisted that there was no time like the present to get started. After all, it would take them a while to go through all of the accessories they had collected over the past several months, especially since they didn’t know what some of them did. While they technically had plenty of reference books (some procured legally, some stolen, just like their accessories), not everything was going to be listed in them, which meant relying on a magical device that Partitio had purchased that supposedly was capable of detecting enchantments. They had yet to try it.

He had been looking forward to spending his afternoon reading out in the sun, but he would be lying if he said that he wasn’t intrigued by the prospect of finding something that could increase his spirit and perhaps even his magical strength while they were at it. Surely they must’ve come across something somewhere that carried the necessary enchantments. He would be greatly disappointed if that wasn’t the case.

Best get to searching.

...No luck.

After several hours of searching, they’d had no luck. In hindsight, it wasn’t all that surprising. While he had certainly had some idea, Temenos had not realized just how much the eight of them had managed to amass throughout their journey—shelves and drawers and trunks all filled with weapons and pieces of armor and trinkets, organized only because Castti and Partitio had put effort into keeping everything orderly. However, that had not included actual labeling aside from general descriptions, and most things were grouped based on appearance rather than function. Meaning that searching through all of the rings, bracelets, and necklaces in order to find something of use to him was a very painful and time-consuming task. He had half a mind to reorganize everything himself but would probably never go through with it. Such a thing sounded quite tedious, after all.

At least being cooped up in the armory with Osvald had provided the two of them the perfect opportunity to talk, to discuss some of what had crossed Temenos’s mind in regard to the One True Magic while he had been ruminating on the Shadow. He was really starting to develop an appreciation for magical research and debates, the sharing of ideas and knowledge, and he wished that more people within the church were interested in theoretical discussions—he certainly wouldn’t mind debating religion in a similar manner. Then again, he somehow doubted that most of them would be anywhere near as engaging as Osvald, who was willing to listen and consider things from multiple angles no matter how outlandish, because much like Temenos, he valued the truth and was not afraid of the path it might take to get there.

A truly enjoyable way to spend their first day at sea.

On the second day, Throné joined them.

“It’s not like I have anything better to do,” she had said when asked, and seeing as how she had been a great help while in the library despite claiming that she was not well versed in magic, they had been more than happy to have her.

She turned out to be their salvation. While he and Osvald probably would’ve stumbled upon it eventually, Throné had made the decision to sift through some of the odds and ends, like the random jewels, pins, and pendants they had come across, the pieces that did not fall into any of the other categories.

The thing with enchanted objects, he had come to find out, was that sometimes it was hard to tell just what kind of enchantment was on them without experimenting in some way, hence the reason why Partitio had purchased a device that did in fact help with identifying enchantments (good to know it hadn’t been a wasted investment). Other times, however, all it took was the act of holding one to realize what it could do.

“I think I found something.”

Temenos put down the reference book he had been flipping through and gave his attention to his assistant. Osvald as well turned to the thief, looking interested in her claim.

In her hands was an amulet, one that had never been gifted a chain to hang from. It was a relatively simple thing, either made from gold or just gold plated with what appeared to be a quartz gem inlaid at the center. He couldn’t quite remember where they had gotten it from, which was true for a lot of their accessories, but it seemed that Osvald recognized it from one of their previous endeavors.

“If memory serves,” he began, “we received that from the librarian upon donating those books in Montwise.”

“It definitely has some sort of magic-related enchantment on it,” Throné said, turning the little pendant over as she examined it. “I don’t have a lot of magic or spirit, but the sensation I felt when I picked it up was...hard to describe.”

“Oh?” That was certainly promising. Temenos got up from the chair he had been sitting in, held out his hand, and said, “Let’s have a look then.”

“Catch.”

She tossed it over, and he had half a mind to scold her for treating a potentially valuable object so carelessly, but the moment he caught it, he understood what she had meant. It was similar to how he felt when he channeled magic with the Staff of Judgment, using it to amplify his spells and achieve greater power. It was a much gentler feeling, however, something that could easily be overlooked—especially for people like him and Osvald, who were simply used to the various sensations that came with wielding magic on a regular basis.

“Well?” asked Osvald, waiting for his verdict.

“...This might be it.” He flipped it over in his hands, ran a finger along the crystal-clear gem. “Such an unassuming little thing, and yet holding it like this does in fact make me feel as though my spiritual well and stamina have improved considerably. I would be interested to see what the device has to say.”

The device said that his claim was accurate, measuring a rather powerful enchantment meant to increase one’s spirit and magical potency. All it had taken to find it was another set of eyes and a different perspective.

“Many thanks, Throné,” he said, meaning it wholeheartedly. “You truly are an excellent assistant. Now I can focus on my studies and the reports I still have to write.”

“You’re starting to sound more and more like a scholar, Detective.”

“I shall take that as a compliment.” Hopefully it meant that he would have an easier time figuring out the rest of what he needed to do. He had more math to learn, a complicated spell to memorize (he had never used Advanced Magic before himself, always relying on Osvald to do it), and if he wanted to make this actually work, then he had to find a couple new incantations in order to draw upon even more power.

His days were about to become very busy indeed.

“Just don’t overdo it, alright?” Throné told him, almost as if she could read his mind. “You have a habit of skipping meals and sleep when you get caught up in something, and Castti’s not the only one who will fret over you if you wear yourself out.”

“I assure you it won’t come to that, but I do appreciate the concern. I shall be certain to look after myself properly this time. You needn’t worry, my dear.”

Despite his reassurance, she did not appear to believe him if the look on her face was any indication. That was fine; he would simply have to endeavor to prove her wrong was all, which he was fairly certain he could do. He just needed to manage his time efficiently, to take regular breaks, and to not get too absorbed in his work. That should be easy enough to handle.

All things in moderation. He was looking forward to seeing what else he could accomplish in the days to come.

(And if he did have a restless night here or there, well...at least he would have something to occupy it with).

It was amazing just how quickly time could fly. Tomorrow afternoon, they would be dropping anchor near the Crestlands, and the day after that they would be arriving in Merry Hills—bright and early, if their timing was right. Crick could admit that he was looking forward to it. He had never been there before, having had no reason to visit during his time with the Sacred Guard, but he had heard about the Grand Gala several times and was rather interested to see just what the event entailed. He was also looking forward to watching Agnea dance upon the stage. She had been practicing regularly over the last few days, twirling around the deck and singing, figuring out the last few lines for the song she would use during the Festival of Grace.

Crick wasn’t very familiar with the art of dancing, nor had he ever seen Dolcinaea perform before, and so maybe he was simply being a bit biased, but he genuinely believed that Agnea could outshine every dancer in the realm.

Her voice, her grace, her dazzling smile—she had been born to perform upon a stage, born to bring joy to others. He was certain that was why Sealticge had chosen her. She had been blessed because she was incredible, rather than being incredible because she was blessed. He felt like that was true for all of the travelers, that it was their strength of heart, their talent, their endurance and kindness that had endeared them to the gods—that those blessings had been earned by dint of character, not just some sort of predetermined fate. They were each extraordinary in their own rights.

All of them, no matter the difficulty, would surely accomplish whatever goals lay before them, just like Osvald, Throné, Temenos, and Ochette had. He believed in them, had faith in them, the same as he did in the gods.

Hopefully that wasn’t considered blasphemous. These were their chosen eight, after all.

With lantern in hand, Crick made his way carefully down the hallway; he didn’t wish to accidentally wake anyone on his way back from the washroom. It was late, well past the point that anyone should still be up, and some of his companions were very light sleepers, so it was important to be as quiet as he could. However, as he passed by one door in particular, he found himself stopping as something he hadn’t noticed earlier caught his attention, his gaze being drawn towards the floor where the glow of flickering candlelight was playing faintly across it.

...Temenos was still up. That, or the inquisitor had forgotten to put out his light before going to bed. Both were possible.

Crick stared at the closed door for a moment, debating on whether he should do anything or not, if he should simply continue walking and return to his room, but curiosity and a touch of concern quickly got the better of him the longer he stood there. 

If the inquisitor was in fact still awake, then perhaps it would be alright to ask what he was doing and see if it was anything he could help with (or insist that he go to sleep if it was something that could obviously wait until later).

If Temenos had simply forgotten to blow out his candles or something, then Crick would just do it for him and be on his way. An easy enough solution.

With his mind made up, he approached the door and knocked lightly (he did not want to accidentally wake Temenos if he was actually asleep).

“Temenos?” he called softly, listening intently for any sound of movement within the room.

Nothing.

A few more quiet knocks, followed by a whispered, “Temenos, are you still awake?”

Again he was met with nothing.

The knight reached for the handle and found that it turned easily, that it wasn’t locked, and so after taking a moment to convince himself that it was alright, that he was just going to take a quick peak and put out the light, he pushed the door open and looked inside.

He saw the lit candles first, sitting on the corner of the inquisitor’s desk that was directly across the room from the doorway.

He saw the inquisitor second, slumped over said desk and fast asleep.

Crick walked into the room and closed the door silently behind him.

...Over the past few days, he hadn’t really seen much of Temenos. He mostly saw him during meals, occasionally out on the deck practicing magic with Osvald, but otherwise the cleric was usually in the study or in his room, reading or working on something that he hadn’t seen fit to share aside from a few general details. He had been busy to say the least, but it hadn’t really seemed to interfere with his wellbeing, always showing up for meals even if someone had to go and find him due to having lost track of time. He was still eating, still retiring for the night, still functioning during the day. There had been no indication at all that he wasn’t taking proper care of himself, that he was working far more hours than he should.

But Temenos was good at pretending, and sometimes not even those closest to him were able to notice. That placating mask of his was a thing that he had perfected over the years, and it was hard to see beyond it when he didn’t want people to.

Now, however...

Quietly and with the utmost care, Crick walked across the room until he was standing next to the desk, until he could see how Temenos had clearly fallen asleep in the middle of something, his right hand still loosely holding his pen. There were papers and books and two candles burned down halfway, casting just enough light to read by, and as the knight looked down at his slumbering charge whose face was only half visible, pillowed as it was upon his left arm and the crook of his right, he felt something twist in his stomach as concern began to pool in his chest.

Temenos looked tired. While it had been hard to notice during the day, there was a faint shadow beneath his eye (the one he could see, anyway), a clear indication of not getting enough sleep, and even though it could have just been a trick of the firelight, he looked paler than usual as well. A single restless night wasn’t enough to cause that, which would imply that this was not the first time the inquisitor had stayed up for longer than he should have, working on something that probably could have waited until he had gotten some sleep. He had clearly intended on going to bed at some point, seeing as how he was dressed in a long shirt and loose pants meant for sleeping, but obviously he hadn’t made it there, so those “intentions” didn’t really count.

...It didn’t make sense. Ever since Temenos had decided to pursue learning Heavenly Shine, barring that very first day in Montwise, he had been doing pretty well according to Castti, making sure he ate and slept enough to keep his energy up. He had actually been taking her instructions seriously for the most part, even though he had occasionally complained about her mothering, so then...why was he...

What had changed? Why regress after so much progress? Had he just been having a hard time sleeping lately, or was it a case of getting too caught up in his work and not realizing just how many hours had gone by? He knew the inquisitor had a lot to do, that stopping Kaldena was not an end to his mission, but surely that didn’t warrant overworking himself until he could no longer keep his eyes open and fell asleep at his desk.

What had he even been doing?

Curious, the knight took a few steps closer, allowing his own lantern to add its light to the area, and without sparing a second to think about how invasive he was potentially being, he looked over a few of the papers and tomes that were spread out a bit haphazardly across the surface.

There was a book of mathematics, one of magic, some sort of legal compendium with the symbol of Timberain on its cover. There were even a few books of scripture, some that he recognized and some he didn’t, including the one that Throné had shown him back in Montwise, the library book that Temenos had clearly borrowed without permission (Crick tried not to be upset about that), which was open to the page that detailed the story about Aelfric using Heavenly Shine.

On a paper tucked partially beneath the book, he could see words written in Temenos’s hand, phrases and terms such as “divine brilliance” and “sacred effulgence,” along with several things that had been crossed out aside from “banish the shadows” and a couple others here and there.

Next to that paper was a completely different paper, filled with mathematical formulas that began to make his head hurt just by looking at them, and next to that one was yet another paper, a long document which looked like some sort of formal report—or at least a rough draft of one seeing as how there were yet again several things crossed off, blotches of ink and half-finished sentences, gaps on the page where something might later be filled in.

He only had to read a bit of it to know what it was: a full documentation of his investigation, a list of everything that had happened from beginning to end, which would eventually be used as a call for action to bring down the Sacred Guard and judge those who had committed crimes under its banner before a court of law.

Crick had known that Temenos was working on several projects. All of them had. But he hadn’t realized that he was literally working on them all at once, that he was trying to do everything, that he had been studying on his own—independently of the time he already spent studying with Osvald—and that even though he could have asked for Crick’s help with the reports, with documenting the events of the investigation (their investigation), he had chosen to handle all of it alone.

Why? It wouldn’t have been a burden for him. Sure, he didn’t know all of the details to the extent that Temenos did, but he could still help and gladly would have helped if asked. He was not opposed to doing paperwork, even if he didn’t particularly like it most of the time, especially if it meant aiding the inquisitor, something that he very much wanted to do. After all, he had made his friend an oath. Surely something like this was in the realm of his knightly responsibilities as well.

He wanted to help.

He wanted to help him, in whatever way he could, which was hard when Temenos so often refused to ask. He was frustratingly lazy about some things and yet completely obstinate about others, apparently to the point of practically running himself into the ground.

It was aggravating, and it made something inside him hurt.

He looked down at the exhausted cleric, and as he watched the firelight play over his face, he found that for some reason he just...couldn’t bring himself to be angry about this. Instead he was met with a feeling halfway between sorrow and determination, with perhaps a touch of worry and guilt along the edges as well.

He breathed a deep sigh.

“You do too much, Inquisitor,” he said to the silent room and to a man who was too deeply asleep to hear (he fought the urge to brush those pale strands of hair away from his face, push them behind a delicate ear). “Isn’t there anything I can...?”

There had to be something he could do, some way for him to help. He refused to believe that there wasn’t. Tomorrow, he would definitely offer to work on some of the reports, because it’s not like he didn’t have the time to do it; there wasn’t a lot for him to do while out at sea, and they were going to be out at sea a lot in the near future. And if Temenos tried to tell him that it wasn’t necessary, he would insist, would perhaps even call him out on his lack of sleeping, would do whatever it took to make sure that the cleric started taking better care of himself. He would even bring Castti into it if he had to, because he was not above resorting to more desperate means. Hopefully a genuine plea to stop overdoing it would be enough though. He very much wanted it to be enough. There was no reason for him to be pushing himself so hard aside from sheer, unnecessary stubbornness—he didn’t have to take care of everything right now, nor did he have to do it alone.

He needed Temenos to know that he was not alone in this. He would never be alone again.

Crick wanted to be relied on. He wanted to help.

“I will do whatever it takes to see this through with you, Temenos. So I hope that you will let me.”

The inquisitor was not the only one with a stubborn streak.

With a great deal of care, the knight reached down and took the pen from those lax fingers, setting it off to the side. He then found himself faced with a rather difficult decision to make, one that unfortunately did not have an easy answer.

Should he or should he not attempt to move Temenos? The inquisitor wasn’t exactly a light sleeper, but he wasn’t a very deep one either. Moving him from the chair to his bed could potentially wake him, which was the last thing that Crick wanted. Not only would that be counterproductive to what the cleric actually needed right now, which was sleep, but it would also alert him to the fact that Crick had entered his room without permission and had been snooping through his things. He could always try to pretend that he hadn’t looked at any of the papers, of course, but he was pretty sure that wouldn’t work. With Temenos being Temenos, there was no way he wouldn’t see right through him, groggy and half-asleep or not. Honestly, he would rather just avoid all of that, which unfortunately meant leaving the slumbering cleric where he was. That would be the safer option.

However, there was no way the position he was sleeping in could possibly be comfortable. His back and shoulders would surely be stiff and sore come morning if he remained slumped over on his desk like that. There was also the chance that, should he wake during the night due to discomfort, he may attempt to keep working, but if he were in his bed, then...maybe he would just go back to sleep? Of course, he would also probably realize that someone had put him there upon waking—and again, Crick would not be able to lie about it if asked, so...

...Which was more important: leaving him there and hoping he would remain asleep, or trying to ensure that he was comfortable but run the risk of waking him?

He deliberated over the decision for far longer than he should have before eventually deciding that he was being an idiot, that it was his responsibility to protect the inquisitor, and that regardless of what anyone else had to say on the matter, protecting and looking after someone meant more than just safeguarding their life during battle. Therefore, he would move him to the bed, ensure that he was comfortable, and if he woke up during the process, then Crick would remain with him and insist that he go back to sleep.

And if he didn’t wake up but questioned the situation come morning, then the knight would simply own up to his actions. Like an adult. Without becoming flustered. Surely he could manage that.

It was decided then.

Slowly and with the greatest of care, he bent down and pulled the inquisitor into his arms, sliding one beneath his knees to lift him. Temenos shifted a bit upon being picked up but otherwise didn’t do anything, remaining fast asleep. He truly must have been tired to be sleeping so soundly.

It took a moment to get him situated on the bed. Again, it was obvious that he must have been planning to go to sleep at some point since in addition to wearing his sleep clothes, the bedding had already been turned down, but for whatever reason he had never made it there. Once he was properly settled and tucked in like he should have been hours ago (Crick tried not to think too much about what he was doing, focusing instead on the task at hand and refusing to let his mind wander lest it drift to how...unorthodox this all was), the knight moved back to the desk and straightened it up a bit before blowing out the two candles, leaving the room lit only by the glow of his lantern.

He took one last look at the inquisitor.

“Sleep well, Temenos,” he said to the silent room. “Tomorrow, I promise I’ll help.”

And you will let me help.

Satisfied, Crick grabbed his lantern, made his way over to the door, and then left the room just as quietly as he had entered.

On the way back to his room, he found himself mulling over the situation, thinking back over the past week and even the days before it. He felt like...like he hadn’t done enough yet. Sure, Temenos had told him that there was nothing owed, that it wasn’t about making himself of use, but he still wanted to do something more, even if it was just something small, a simple gesture for the person who had done so much for him, for the guiding light and shepherd that he was so fortunate to have found.

Surely there had to be...

...Well, there was perhaps one thing he could think of, something that he had, in all honesty, been rather anxiously attempting to deflect ever since he had first brought it up.

The other day, Temenos had once again expressed an interest in the fact that Crick could technically cook (he had brought it up a couple times during their prior sea voyage and a few more during this current one). He had even gone so far as to say he doubted the knight’s claim in an attempt to bait him into agreeing to prove it, but Crick knew better than to give in to childish provocations like that. The cleric had looked somewhat disappointed the last time, though whether that was just a ploy to make him feel guilty or not, he didn’t know. Regardless, for some strange reason he could only attempt to guess at, Temenos seemed to want him to make something.

He had only ever cooked for himself before, and the whole reason he had learned in the first place was out of necessity. His parents had stopped being “parents” years before Inquisitor Roi had inspired him to leave the life he hated behind and join the Order of the Sacred Flame, meaning that he had been forced to fend for himself on many occasions. That being said, he didn’t dislike cooking, but he also had no idea if he was actually any good at it, because he wasn’t all that picky when it came to food. He liked to believe that he was decent at least, but he certainly wouldn’t consider himself talented.

Should he actually try to...?

As he reached his door and proceeded to sequester himself safely within his room, Crick knew he needed to make a decision. Unfortunately, it wasn’t an easy one for him to make. He did not want to end up embarrassing himself, but...if Temenos really was serious in his curiosity and wasn’t just attempting to tease him, to find a new form of entertainment, to seek amusement at his expense, then...maybe...

Maybe he would give it a shot.

Chapter Text

The galley aboard the Grand Terry was a large yet modest thing. It had a decent sized pantry, an ice box, two stoves, several cupboards, a separate dining area with a table big enough for all of them—pretty much everything one could want in a kitchen. So far he had only been in it for the purpose of eating, but that was about to change. This time Crick was on a mission, one that could very well end in disaster if he wasn’t careful, but he was determined to try nonetheless.

Simply put, he was going to make breakfast. That was the plan. As soon as he figured out what he could actually make, of course. He didn’t really know where anything was located or what they even had on hand, which made it rather difficult to think of something. He had woken up early for this too, and yet all he had done so far was discard several ideas (due to either being too basic or too complicated) without actually settling on anything to cook.

...Maybe he should have asked someone for help with this after all, or at the very least gathered a few suggestions first. Not that there had really been time for him to do so, given how spur of the moment this had been. He could admit that his decision was made in haste (a lot of his decisions were made in haste) and that he was more than a little bit nervous about it. Still, he had thought that he would’ve been able to come up with something by now. Agnea and Castti never seemed to have any problems when it came to deciding on what to feed everyone, so why was he having so much trouble?

Perhaps he could... The dancer and apothecary were both early risers, so maybe one of them would be up at this hour for him to talk to. He needed ideas, or at the very least a place to start. Honestly, he didn’t even know what Temenos liked. How was he supposed to—

“You should make pancakes.”

It was only thanks to all of those years spent training to become a knight that he did not yelp like some sort of frightened child at the sudden sound of Throné’s voice behind him. He did, however, whirl around so quickly that he nearly tripped over his own two feet, managing to catch himself just barely on the edge of the counter to avoid tumbling to the ground.

He could feel his heart racing—how was she so good at sneaking up on people? He hadn’t heard anyone approaching him at all! Sure, he had been a little lost in thought, but for her to get that close without a single sound...

Crick attempted to glare at her (attempted being the key word), and while her expression remained deadpan as she watched him, there was definitely amusement in her eyes.

“Throné, I beg you, please don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“Sorry.” She did not sound sorry. “You looked kind of lost, so I thought I might help. You should make pancakes.”

“You said that.” He pushed himself away from the counter and asked, “Why pancakes?”

“Because he likes sweets.”

The knight simply blinked at her for a moment, confused.

“He? I don’t—”

“Temenos,” she replied quickly, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world while at the same time managing to not sound condescending about it. “If you’re going to make breakfast, then you might as well make something he likes. I’m sure he’ll be impressed.”

Oh, for the love of—

Why? Why did it only ever seem to take just a handful of words to completely fluster him, and why was Temenos so often the catalyst even when he wasn’t there? Crick could practically feel his face turning red as her words sank in. He immediately tried to justify his actions, because clearly she had gotten the wrong idea about this.

“I-I’m not trying to... That’s not why I...”

“Oh? So you didn’t decide to wake up early today and make breakfast because Temenos has been pushing himself too hard lately and you wanted to do something nice for him?”

...Damn it.

Seriously, how? How was she able to read him so easily? How did she manage to glean all of that from him without asking a single question? It wasn’t fair. He knew that her ability to read others rivaled even the inquisitor’s at times, but he had literally only decided to do this last night—that was barely any time at all to arrive at such an accurate conclusion.

She was maybe starting to scare him a little.

“There’s no reason to look so embarrassed about it,” she continued, not unkindly, as if she had once again somehow managed to sense where this thoughts had gone. “I don’t see anything wrong with doing something nice for a friend, especially when that friend has been doing a poor job of taking care of himself. He probably won’t say as much, but I know it’ll make him happy.”

Some of his irritation faded as he rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously, half embarrassed and half pleased by those words. He could have tried to deny it again, not that it would’ve done him much good, really, because at the end of the day, Throné wasn’t wrong about his motivation. The fact that he was technically going to be making breakfast for everyone (because to do otherwise seemed inconsiderate) was beside the point, especially since he was partially doing it to avoid the potential teasing that was sure to come his way were he to cook something solely for the inquisitor.

Hopefully Throné would be kind about this. She was offering to help him, so...maybe he didn’t need to worry too much. Maybe she also just wanted to do something nice for Temenos. He certainly wouldn’t mind having another set of hands, that was for sure. After all, preparing food for so many people was kind of a lot for him to handle on his own, especially since he didn’t really know where anything was. Not having to search through every cupboard and drawer would definitely save him a lot of time. He only had so much of it to get this done.

“Come on,” said Throné, already moving towards the pantry. “We should probably get started—though I guess I should ask, do you even know how to make pancakes?”

“I...yes.” He had made them once during a particularly nostalgic moment, remembering how the cook at his family’s manor used to make them for him when he was little, before everything fell apart. He might have...wasted a lot of ingredients, actually, during his attempt, but eventually he had managed to get it mostly right.

He was suddenly very grateful that Throné had offered to help.

“Great,” she said, already pulling out some of the things they would need. “Then I’ll leave most of the actual cooking part to you. I’ll help with the preparation—and I’ll also make sure we don’t accidently start a fire or something.”

...A fire?

“Has that happened before?”

“Let’s just say that some people aren’t meant for the kitchen and leave it at that. The bowls and measuring cups are in that cabinet there. We’ll be needing most of them.”

She pointed to the cupboard to the right of him, and as much as he really wanted to ask her about the whole starting a fire incident, he decided to leave it be for now as she had asked. He would also be extra careful not to do anything that might result in a new incident occurring, because he very much wanted his first attempt at cooking for someone else to be a success. The last thing he wanted was for this to be remembered by everyone as “that time Crick nearly burned down our ship while making breakfast.” What a mortifying thought...

As the two of them got to work after spreading out everything they would need along the counter, they did so in a mostly comfortable silence. “Mostly” comfortable, because while Throné seemed perfectly fine with not talking while they worked, Crick was instead racking his brain for something to say, some sort of conversation topic that was safe. In truth, what he wanted to ask her about was her journey. He only knew a few pieces of it. She was a former member of the Blacksnakes, one of the most notorious criminal organizations in the world, and after deciding that she was done with that life, she had set out to find her freedom, to rid herself of the collar that all Blacksnakes were forced to wear, something that could kill them if they ever tried to remove it by force.

What a terrible thing to do to a person, ensuring that even if they chose to run away, to leave, they would never be truly free. They would always carry a reminder, both for themselves and for others, a mark that would brand and identify them no matter where they went. It must have been stifling.

But Throné had put all of that behind her. She had achieved her goal prior to the travelers arriving in Stormhail. Occasionally he would see her reach up to her neck, to where the collar had once been, fingers brushing over the bare skin. Having worn it all her life, he could imagine that it must feel odd to be without it. Liberating, of course, but something that would probably take some getting used to.

He really did want to ask about it, but he also didn’t want to upset her. It was inconsiderate to bring up sensitive topics, and he was pretty sure that this qualified. He should just leave it alone, but at the same time he couldn’t think of anything else to say, nothing that they could talk about that wouldn’t feel completely mundane or forced.

He wanted to get to know her better. No matter what, he wanted to—

“If there’s something you want to say to me, then just say it.”

Startled, Crick looked over at the thief, who had her attention fixed on the bowl in front of her.

When he failed to say anything, those sharp eyes glanced over at him.

“Don’t look so surprised,” she said. “I can tell there’s something on your mind. You’ve got an honest face, so you’re easy to read, and I’ve had a lot of practice over the years when it comes to studying people. Whatever you want to say, I promise not to get offended by it, so go ahead.”

Well...if she was giving him permission, then...

He took a deep breath and decided to just go for it.

“I...wanted to ask you about your journey,” he began, “but I also know that it’s something you probably don’t wish to talk about. Obviously I know some of it already, since you told me back in Montwise, but...I guess as someone who also chose to leave home and carve a path for myself, I was just curious about what pushed you. Not that I don’t understand wanting to leave that kind of life.”

To his surprise, rather than schooling her expression into something indifferent or unbothered at his words, Throné actually smiled at him, and not in amusement this time either. It was softer, a bit more like understanding, and it helped him relax a little and trust that this really was a topic that was okay to talk about with her, that she had put the pain of it behind her where it belonged.

“I suppose we do have that in common, don’t we,” she said. “Deciding to find our own place in the world rather than the one we were born into.”

Something thoughtful crossed her face, her brow furrowing a bit as she mulled over his question, and he allowed her the time she needed to think as he carefully measured out the rest of what he would need in order to make enough food for everyone. By now he had a pretty good idea of how much they could all eat, with Ochette obviously being the most voracious eater of them all. He knew that she primarily liked meat, but he also knew that she enjoyed certain fruits, mainly some of the wild ones that grew in the forest. He wondered if she liked pancakes or not. Maybe he would check the ice box and see what they had on hand as far as meat went, just in case. Thanks to Osvald and his ice magic, not to mention a few ice soulstones, they could store all kinds of things while out at sea without the fear of them spoiling. He had never known that magic could be so convenient.

It took about a minute for Throné to gather her thoughts enough to answer him.

“...I was taught how to kill at a young age,” she began, her voice steady despite the content of her words. “I’ve always hated it, the way it makes me feel, and so I tried to only take lives when I had to. Eventually I got used to it, living that way, but what finally pushed me to leave was being forced to kill one of the only people I considered to be a friend, all because we had both been selected as possible successors by our ‘parents.’ I decided at that point that I was done with the Blacksnakes, that I was tired of living my life in a cage, constantly at the whims of others, and the only way I could achieve that was by getting rid of my collar. Gaining my freedom wasn’t easy, and there are some things about both myself and the Blacksnakes that I might’ve been happier not knowing, but I don’t regret it. I would do it all again if it meant being free.”

Understandable. A shackled life was no life at all.

“What do you intend to do with it, your freedom?” he asked, curious.

“I’m not sure yet. I haven’t exactly had a lot of time to think about it, given how busy we’ve been. Although, I suppose there’s not really much point in thinking about it right now anyway—it’s not like I can just pack up and leave everyone with the way things are. I might’ve started this journey for my own sake, but...now, I...”

She hesitated, and he wasn’t entirely sure why. Was it simply a difficult thing to admit to, or did she not know how to put it accurately into words? He was pretty sure he knew how that sentence was supposed to end, and so deciding to take a chance, because Throné had been pretty open with him so far, not shying away at all from the truth, he opened his mouth and said, “But now you stay by choice?”

It wasn’t a question. It was not meant to be a question.

But it ended up sounding like one.

He froze as those sharp eyes turned to him, looking a little surprised. She didn’t appear to be offended, but worrying that he might have overstepped because there were so many ways those words could be taken poorly—especially since he had not sounded anywhere near as confident saying them as he had intended—he quickly began to apologize. The last thing he had wanted was to make it seem like he was expressing doubt over the sincerity of her intentions. He knew that it was so much more than self-interest or obligation that bound these eight people together.

“Please forgive me,” he said, rushing through his words. “That did not come out as... I assure you, I was not trying to—”

“It’s alright,” she said, cutting him off before he could stumble over any more attempts at an apology. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it, and it’s not like you’re wrong. I began traveling as a necessity, and having people with me made it easier to accomplish my goals, but now I travel because I want to. It has nothing to do with the gods or being chosen. I’m guessing it’s the same for you?”

The knight shifted his weight a bit, feeling a little out of place all of a sudden, because...

“I wasn’t chosen by a god.”

“But you believe in them, and yet I don’t think it was that belief that made you decide to stay with us when you could’ve gone back to the Sacred Guard with your friends. It’s obvious that your devotion lies elsewhere.”

He opened his mouth to say something but immediately snapped it shut, swallowing a bit thickly as he tried not to read too deeply into what she had said. It was hard not to though, because she wasn’t...she wasn’t wrong about his reasons for joining them, that it really didn’t have anything to do with the gods and everything to do with a certain unconventional cleric who had become a rather important part of his life. The fact that Temenos was blessed hadn’t been a factor in his decision when he had asked to come with back in Montwise, nor had it been a factor when he decided to continue traveling at his side. He would’ve followed regardless of the circumstances.

But calling it devotion was...kind of a lot. Some of his reasons felt a bit too selfish for such a reverent term (even if Temenos himself might be deserving of it).

“Staying and seeing this through was the only choice I could make,” she continued. “There wasn’t another option, because to me, the others are...”

She trailed off again, hesitating, but this time he wasn’t going to finish the sentence for her, wouldn’t dare to put words in her mouth for something like this, a connection that he had no real part in and was only just starting to understand. These people were all important to each other. They shared a bond that wasn’t easy to define, one forged in comradery and shared goals and time spent in each other’s company. When you spent every day with someone, went through life and death situations together, it created a very unique kind of relationship, something that couldn’t really be described. He was certain that was why Throné was having trouble finding the right words, why her brow had suddenly furrowed in thought.

When she eventually spoke, however, what she said was not at all what he had been expecting to hear.

“Can I ask you a somewhat...strange question?” she asked, which immediately piqued his curiosity, and seeing as how she had humored him earlier upon asking his own question, he was really in no position to refuse. Not that he would have anyway.

“Go ahead,” he replied.

It took another moment for her to continue.

“If someone were to ask you to define the word ‘family,’ what would you tell them?”

“...Family?” Needless to say, her question caught him off guard. Of all the things she could have asked him, something that abstract had not even remotely crossed his mind.

It should have been a simple question.

“I...”

It wasn’t. While most people had at least some idea of what a family was, or at the very least what it was supposed to be, being asked to define it was kind of...well...

Truth be told, he probably wasn’t the best person to ask.

“I don’t know. I suppose I’ve never given it much thought. When I was younger, I probably would have said that ‘family’ is who you are related to, but I know that isn’t always the case. I wouldn’t exactly call my own parents ‘family’ anymore.”

“Neither would I. I suppose we have that in common as well. As a Blacksnake, I had two mothers and two fathers. Three of them I killed with my own hands, but only one of them...made me feel like I had lost something, and yet I still don’t know if I would really call him ‘family,’ considering the circumstances. Perhaps we could have been if things had been different, but there’s not much point in dwelling on that now. The countless brothers and sisters I apparently have aren’t family either. I think ‘family’ is something you choose for yourself, a bond that can be forged with or without blood. Maybe that’s your parents, or a group of friends, or the people you chose to travel with on your journey. People who supported you, who fought alongside you, who called you a good person even though you’re not. That’s how I would define it. That’s why I choose to stay.”

...He had known that. In some ways, he had already known that, but hearing it aloud put a lot of things into perspective. He had already had a considerable amount of respect for Throné, despite her somewhat unsavory profession, but he found himself in awe of her as she stated so plainly what many would probably struggle to put into words. She was incredible, truly. It really did make him want to get to know her better.

“You are a good person,” he said, believing it wholeheartedly. Even if she didn’t need reassurance of that fact, he wanted to give it to her anyway.

Those words earned him a breath of laughter and a grin that was undeniably amused.

“Temenos was the one who said that,” she told him. “I never expected anyone to call me ‘good,’ let alone a cleric from the church, but I learned pretty quickly that he doesn’t conform to standards. I like that about him. It’s refreshing, just how open-minded he is. I take it you agree?”

He hadn’t, in the beginning. He had wanted Temenos to behave like a normal clergyman, to carry himself in a manner befitting of his lofty station. Things were a lot different now though.

“I do.” Because how could he not when it was that penchant for doubt, those unconventional methods, that belief in the truth and only the truth that had saved him in the end?

“For the record, I’m glad he has you,” she said. “It’s good to know that even after this journey is over and we all go our separate ways, he won’t be alone.”

He tried not to read too much into that comment either, but for a moment he was tempted to ask her what exactly she meant, why Temenos would be alone. However, it didn’t take him long to find the answer, because of course things couldn’t continue indefinitely the way they were. All eight of them had set out for their own reasons. Eventually, it would all come to an end. Some of them would return home, others would keep working in pursuit of their dreams, and while they would surely all keep in touch with each other, it wouldn’t be the same as it was now.

But Crick didn’t plan on going anywhere. He was exactly where he wanted to be. He would remain at the inquisitor’s side, become a part of the Inquisition, and do whatever he could to make the world a better place.

Temenos had never really struck him as the type who would get lonely; rather like someone who would be fine on his own. But Throné clearly believed otherwise, and he would be a fool not to trust her on the matter. Regardless, he had already made his decision weeks ago, and he had no intention of changing his mind. There was nothing for her to worry about.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

As a far more comfortable silence settled between them this time, they managed to finish up the last of their preparations, mixing everything together before grabbing a frying pan from one of the cupboards and making their way to the stove. The thief showed him how to light it and adjust the temperature before more or less leaving him to his own devices as she worked on getting a warming box ready for the food, something that had impressed him the first time he had seen Agnea making use of it while cooking.

Who knew that soulstones could have so many practical uses? Of course, they also had a habit of exploding, which was probably why so few people used them in such a way, and he would be lying if he said that he didn’t have those particular concerns as well. He still very much did not want to start a fire. To that extent, however, what he really needed to be focusing on was his own task and not worrying about what Throné was doing. And so focus he did.

About two thirds of the way through his large bowl of pancake batter (and with only two burned pancakes out of many, the result of it taking him a moment to adapt and get into a rhythm), they were joined by Agnea.

“Something smells good!”

He turned at the sound of the dancer’s voice as she walked into the galley with a bright grin on her face. It didn’t take her long to see what he was making, and her eyes lit up even more at the sight.

“Oh, pancakes!” she exclaimed with a gleeful clap of her hands. “It’s been such a long time since we’ve had them. They look amazing!”

He smiled at her enthusiasm while making sure to pay attention to his task (he was doing his best not to burn any more food, after all, and didn’t want to mess up so close to the end).

“Let us hope they taste as good as they look,” he said, not without a touch of humor.

“I’m sure they will. Is there anything I can help with?”

It was Throné who answered her.

“Do you know if we still have that bottle of syrup?” she asked. “I thought it was supposed to last for a while, but I couldn’t find it in the pantry. We could always make do with just honey, I suppose, but I know some people prefer syrup with their pancakes.”

“Let me take a look. It might’ve ended up in the ice box. Oh, we should also have some fresh fruit left from Toto’haha in there too! Fruit goes great with pancakes.”

“Should we brew some coffee and tea as well? There should be enough time before the others get here. I’m sure the professor and his royal highness would appreciate it.”

“Yes, let’s!”

...This was nice.

As Crick listened to Throné and Agnea moving around the kitchen while he focused on cooking, he couldn’t help but think that it was nice. The atmosphere that settled over the three of them was pleasant and productive and almost tranquil in a sense. He was actually kind of enjoying himself.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to do this sort of thing more often: helping to prepare a meal, cooking for his companions. Maybe he would offer to assist Agnea from time to time moving forward, pick up on some culinary tips and tricks from their most experienced cook. He had never really given much thought to improving before, having had no real reason to, but it wouldn’t be a bad use of his time. Such a thing may even serve him well somewhere down the line.

He smiled at the thought.

“Aha! Found it!”

With syrup in hand, Agnea stepped away from the ice box, and as he continued to flip pancakes, he could see her and Throné cutting up fruit, pulling plates and silverware from the cupboards and drawers, and getting the table set in anticipation for when the rest of the travelers would arrive. He knew that if anyone took too long, Agnea would probably go and wake them, but in the end it proved not to be necessary.

Osvald was the first one to make his way to the kitchen, followed not long after by Partitio and Ochette. While the merchant did express a bit of surprise over seeing both him and Throné there, especially upon being told that the two of them had made the meal, he thankfully didn’t question it or ask what the occasion was. The only person that Crick had formulated a response for when it came to that particular question was Temenos, because he knew the cleric would probably ask. It wasn’t in his nature not to. Fortunately the knight was given plenty of time to steel himself, because it wasn’t until he was pouring the last bit of batter into the frying pan that the remaining three members of their group finally arrived.

Hikari and Castti looked pleasantly surprised at the scene before them as they made their way into the room and over to the table, while Temenos, rather than following them, actually came to a dead stop in the doorway and just kind of stood there for a moment, looking genuinely taken aback by what he saw. Those green eyes quickly swept over the area before locking onto Crick, and he tried his absolute best not to let it make him nervous, to simply ignore that piercing stare and focus on not burning a third pancake or allowing it to flip out of the frying pan and into the fire (because again, he did not want to start a fire).

Thankfully the inquisitor did not approach him until his task was done, until he was setting everything aside and smothering the flames while Agnea grabbed the final plate of food and carried it over. The cleric had one brow raised as his gaze drifted to the stove, then to the perfectly set table, and then finally back to Crick, looking somewhat suspicious as he carefully stated, “You made breakfast.”

In some ways, it almost felt like an accusation.

“I did,” he replied, firm and resolute. He had been preparing for this. “With some help from Throné.”

“Why?”

He was prepared for this as well.

“Because you kept asking me to cook something.” Give Temenos the truth and he would often relent, especially if he believed that poking and prodding wouldn’t earn him any sort of amusing reactions. While it certainly wasn’t the whole truth, it would probably manage to satisfy his curiosity for the time being, because regardless of Crick’s actual motivation, putting an end to the cleric’s consistent pestering was a more than believable one.

Temenos seemed to think so as well. The man breathed a sigh before saying, “Fair enough, though given how adamantly you kept denying me, I am somewhat surprised you actually gave in. I expected it to take at least several more attempts.”

“Perhaps I simply wanted to give Agnea a break from cooking today, as a way of supporting her before we arrive in Merry Hills. And as a way of showing my appreciation for allowing me to accompany you all on this journey.”

“Hmm...I suppose I can accept that as an answer, especially since regardless of the reason, it did get me what I wanted.”

This time it was Crick’s turn to breathe a sigh as he said, “I still do not understand your obsession with this. It’s not as if being able to cook is that unique of a skill.”

“Curiosity, my dear Crick. It is as simple as that. Now, why don’t we take our place at the table? It certainly wouldn’t do to let the food grow cold after you worked so hard on it.”

Together, the two of them made their way to the table, and as all nine of them sat down and piled their plates full of food, he tried to prepare for the comments that were sure to follow but still found himself becoming flustered by every word of praise. Apparently he had done quite well, which was what he had been hoping for despite having braced for the worst. It was a bit much, honestly; he had never been particularly good at this kind of thing, always ending up feeling overwhelmed in these sorts of situations despite also feeling quite pleased. However, there was one reaction in particular that he had been anticipating, one that, upon catching sight of it, made everything more than worth it.

As Temenos took his first forkful after cutting his pancakes into perfect, bite-sized pieces (he had a very elegant way of eating, Crick had come to learn), the cleric paused for a moment, his eyes falling closed, before a small, blissful smile spread across his lips.

“He probably won’t say as much, but I know it’ll make him happy.”

It seemed that Throné had been right. Temenos did in fact look happy. It was true that there were still traces of exhaustion on his face, now that Crick knew how to spot them, but for the moment, at least, he seemed content as he ate his breakfast, even without the knowledge that this had been done specifically for him.

That same feeling from earlier suddenly washed over the knight, the one that had made him think that he wouldn’t mind doing this again someday.

It was...nice, watching someone enjoy a meal that he had made.

Watching Temenos enjoy a meal he had made.

It really did make him want to try again. He rather liked that look of quiet contentment on the cleric’s face. He would do a great deal to keep it there.

Something warm settled low and comfortable in his chest.

He could get used to this.

When Temenos had opened his eyes that morning, greeting the dawn of their sixth day out at sea, needless to say he had been a little...confused by his situation. For a couple of reasons. The primary one being that, while he could definitely remember having gotten ready for bed the previous night, he did not remember actually making it there, and yet for some reason he had woken up buried beneath his covers instead of slumped over at his desk. He very clearly remembered being at his desk. True, he was unable to pinpoint the exact moment that he had fallen asleep (very few people could do such a thing), but he definitely remembered rubbing at his eyes as he read through that purloined book of scripture again, which was where everything started to get a little fuzzy for him, meaning that he had likely fallen asleep not long after.

So then why did he wake up in his bed? He wasn’t exactly known for sleepwalking or anything, so it was unlikely that he had managed to put himself there, which would imply that someone else had done it for him.

Meaning that someone had gone into his room last night. But who? There were only a few options, because not all of his companions would’ve been nosy enough to do it, and out of the few who were, he could really only think of one who would’ve blown out his candles, straightened up his desk, and had the strength to get him into bed without waking him.

Crick.

He was almost certain that the person who had been in his room last night was Crick. He didn’t have any proof, mind you, but getting it wouldn’t be very difficult. His little lamb was a terrible liar. All he needed to do was ask him directly, and the man would either fold immediately or stammer through some sort of poor attempt to conceal the truth and thus ultimately give himself away. That was just how these things went.

And so, after getting himself ready for the day, Temenos had left in search of his Godsblade.

However, all thoughts of cornering the knight and extracting the truth from him were completely washed away upon stepping into the kitchen, and they showed no signs of returning as the inquisitor found himself sitting at the table with his friends, eating delightfully fluffy pancakes with fresh cut strawberries and syrup.

So, it turned out that Crick actually could cook. And he was fairly good at it too. As someone who had absolutely no culinary skills, Temenos had spent most of his life eating meals prepared by others, and as such he liked to believe that he was a fairly decent judge of ability in that regard. His verdict? The food was delicious, and he swore that he wasn’t just saying that because he enjoyed sweet things or because the man who had made them was someone that he had become rather fond of over the past several months. It was purely an objective opinion, and as he shoved another forkful into his mouth, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, he found himself thinking that this was nice. While the meal hadn’t been made specifically just for him (that would be asking for a bit much), it was still nice that Crick had done this, and he sincerely hoped that he would be willing to do so again.

Perhaps it could even become a regular occurrence. He wouldn’t mind that in the slightest; such a thing would be quite welcome, in fact. He could picture it in his head, Crick making use of the small kitchen in his house back at Flamechurch, the two of them taking meals together daily. It really would be nice to have someone around who was capable of cooking, so that he wouldn’t have to eat alone upon returning home, so that maybe he could—

The inquisitor froze, his eyes widening slightly, and he was suddenly very grateful for the fork he had just put in his mouth that prevented a startled gasp from escaping it as the reality of what he had just been thinking about dawned on him.

It felt a bit like being smacked in the face. Honestly, where did that thought even come from? He was not the type to... Gods, what an unbelievably domestic image that was—seriously, what was he even...

Clearly he did not get enough sleep last night if he was entertaining something so completely and utterly ridiculous, and yet...

...And yet he did not hate the idea. Quite the opposite, in fact. He was actually rather surprised at how much he didn’t hate it, and not just because he wouldn’t have to worry about where his meals were coming from.

If asked, Temenos would likely try to claim that he did not “need” companionship, that he was perfectly fine being on his own. It wasn’t a complete lie, not exactly, but it certainly wasn’t the full truth of the matter either. He could manage if he had to, if there were no other options available to him aside from doing everything alone, but throughout the course of his journey, he had gotten used to being surrounded by others, to simply just, well...not being alone. After so many months of shared burdens, of laughter and conversations and a lively, warm atmosphere—especially when it came to taking meals—he somewhat dreaded the idea of losing that, of returning to an empty home.

Both Roi and the pontiff were gone now, and while he could certainly eat with the other clerics or even with Mindt (the two of them got along well enough, all things considered), it wouldn’t be the same, even though he had known several of them for years.

It just...wouldn’t be the same.

So then what made Crick so different? Why was he an exception? He had only known the knight for a mere fraction of the time he had known everyone else in Flamechurch, so...why?

Why?

Why did the idea of having him around, of sharing meals together, make him feel so—

He felt a knee knock against his under the table, effectively snapping him out of his thoughts. He raised his head and looked over at Throné. She was watching him curiously with perhaps just a hint of concern in her eyes.

“Is something wrong?” she whispered, low enough that no one else could hear, which he was more than grateful for since it seemed that no one else had noticed him zoning out during their rather spirited conversations (thankfully).

He swallowed his current bite of food and finally removed the fork from his mouth so that he could answer.

“No, I...it’s nothing.” It was not nothing, but he had absolutely no interest in telling his dear assistant what he had been thinking about, because she would surely read too much into it and then refuse to leave it be. He didn’t need that kind of headache when he had more than enough on his plate already. He didn’t have time for this sort of...thing right now, and so he needed to push it to the back of his mind, file it away for later. Instead, he should simply enjoy the food that was in front of him, the result of his relentless pestering, and not think about it too much. In the end, he had gotten what he had wanted: a meal cooked by his little lamb.

That was more than enough.

(For now, he could let that be enough).

“...Temenos.”

At the call of his name, the inquisitor paused in the hallway (he had been on his way to the study to procure a few more books for his research) and turned around to find Crick walking towards him. Normally the knight would be on the deck after breakfast, sparring with Hikari, but apparently that wasn’t the case today. Perhaps they had chosen to forgo their usual sparring practice due to the fact that they would be dropping anchor this afternoon? There was a good deal of preparation that needed to be made before then.

Though that didn’t seem like a good enough reason, honestly. Not when it came to something they both enjoyed. Curious, he waited for his Godsblade to state his business, which he did upon catching up with him, stopping a respectful distance away (ever the diligent knight).

“There is something I wish to speak to you about,” he stated.

“I gathered as much. What is it?”

Those blue eyes were firm as they met his unwaveringly.

“I want you to let me help with the reports about the investigation, as well as writing the documents needed for the coming trial.”

Were he someone less talented at schooling his expression and more prone to being surprised, Temenos might’ve been shocked by that rather sudden request. He probably would’ve sucked in a sharp breath, taken a step back, questioned how Crick had known what he’d been working on in the privacy of his own room, but seeing as how he was far more skilled in the art of solving mysteries than most, it took him no time at all to line the pieces up.

It seemed that his earlier assumption had been right.

He shifted his weight, crossed his arms over his chest, and fixed the man before him with a look that he often gave those he chose to interrogate.

“So you were the one who entered my room last night,” he said, and to his dear knight’s credit, he did not flinch or look away at the accusation.

Instead, he simply replied with a short and solid, “Yes.”

“And I take it you also looked through the papers on my desk?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I wished to know what you were working on.”

“Did it not occur to you that such a thing was an invasion of my privacy?”

“It did, but as your Godsblade, it is my responsibility to look after you and to assist with whatever I can.”

...Huh.

“And does that include carrying me to bed?”

“You required sleep, and in good conscious I could not leave you in such an uncomfortable position. It was also my hope that if you awoke while in bed, you might remain there instead of continuing to work. It isn’t healthy to keep such late hours, Temenos. I would ask that you stop pushing yourself like this.”

...Well.

That was rather unexpected. In truth, he wasn’t entirely sure what to say. This was not at all the outcome he had predicted.

Temenos had thought that his easily flustered knight would react the way he always did, the way that never failed to amuse him no matter how many times it happened, but apparently that just wasn’t the case, and it managed to catch him off guard. He had not been expecting so much straightforward honesty, even though Crick was a very straightforward, honest person, because normally when faced with so many probing questions, he would start to fall apart at the seams. He would stammer and blush and try to justify his actions in some manner, but this time there was none of that at all. He had simply answered every single question directly with that steely yet earnest look on his face, which made the inquisitor wonder if his little lamb was upset with him in some way, if his actions as of late had bothered the other man enough to the point of deciding to confront him about it.

What was he supposed to say to that? This wasn’t what he had anticipated. It would’ve been so much easier for him if Crick had just gotten flustered like usual, because now he had to face this directly instead of weaving a path around it. His Godsblade was being completely unapologetic about his actions, whether they were justified or not, and that left the inquisitor very little ground to stand on. Because he knew that he hadn’t been getting enough sleep lately, that despite what he had said to Throné that day in the armory, he had allowed himself to get absorbed in his work. He had simply thought that no one had noticed, and if it wasn’t interfering with his day-to-day activities to the point where he was giving himself away, then why bother worrying about it?

Apparently that hadn’t been the case, and if Crick had noticed (though he did have an advantage in that regard due to being nosy), then it stood to reason that some of the others might’ve noticed as well. Eventually, word would reach Castti, and if that happened, he would no doubt receive a lecture and more slumber sage tonics that he would have very little choice but to take. He didn’t want that, but he also knew that he wouldn’t be able to fault her for her mothering.

He had very few options here.

“...Temenos?”

Crick was starting to look a little worried, which implied that he had been taking too long to say something. He knew that he needed to respond but wasn’t entirely sure what would be best. A rare feat indeed, to render him so lost for words.

“Bravo, Crick,” he eventually said with a small, defeated smile. Despite himself, he still found the whole thing somewhat amusing. That was simply the way he was, after all. “It is not often that I am left speechless. I honestly did not think you had it in you to blackmail me.”

“Blackmail?” the knight asked, sounding shocked, his expression finally changing into something less composed as his eyes widened with affront. “That is not what I...!”

He gave a frustrated groan, ran a hand down his face in exasperation.

“Gods, I do not understand you sometimes,” he continued. “How is asking to let me help you with your reports akin to blackmail? That doesn’t make any sense!”

“Oh? So you are saying that you aren’t giving me some sort of ultimatum where I must either stop keeping such late hours or you will tell someone, primarily Castti, about what I’ve been doing?”

“I don’t recall saying anything of the sort!”

“But I am certain you must have thought of it at some point, did you not?”

The frustrated silence he was met with was very telling. Crick, however, chose not to respond to his antagonizing.

“Look...” the knight eventually sighed, that earnest expression from earlier returning to his face. “All I want is to help you, Temenos, and for you to start taking better care of yourself. Nothing more. I do not think that is an unreasonable request.”

“I suppose it’s not.” It wasn’t unreasonable at all, actually. In truth, it was honestly quite kind. Not that he would expect anything less from his noble knight. “I had thought to spare you from something that is admittedly rather unpleasant given how much this investigation almost took from you, but if you are truly offering to spend your time doing paperwork with me, then I would welcome the company.”

Those blue eyes softened even as something determined fell across his face.

“You needn’t spare me from anything, Temenos,” he stated, with an underlying tone that almost seemed touched. “You can rely on me, even for something like this. I want you to.”

“Very well.” How could he possibly deny such an earnest request? He had always had a weakness for such genuine sincerity. “Then I suppose you can start by helping me find a few tomes in the study. While the actual work will have to wait until we conclude our business in Merry Hills, I would at least like to locate the rest of what I need.”

“Of course.”

“And Crick?”

“Yes?”

He wasn’t exactly used to this, but it needed to be said.

“...Thank you.”

A smile, warm and fond.

“You’re welcome, Temenos.”

(It really was nice, not to be alone).

Merry Hills: home to the Grand Gala and a gathering place for performers from all across the world. It was a modest, charming little village, much like Flamechurch, aside from the massive shrine he could see in the distance, the stage that many would perform upon throughout the day. Temenos could admit that it was impressive, that when combined with the lively atmosphere and the crowds of people, Merry Hills felt positively vibrant, even rivalling the bustling city of New Delsta in activity. It certainly hadn’t been that way the last time he had visited, during a trip with the pontiff several years back, but he supposed that today was a rather special occasion. The gaping looks on some of his companions’ faces certainly implied as much.

Everywhere they looked, there was someone putting on a show.

“Oh, just look at all of the people here!” said Agnea, looking delighted. “Minstrels, street performers, even a circus! And there are so many vendors too! It’s almost like a dream...”

“You said it, Aggie! There’s so much food here—I can even smell meat cooking! We have time to eat, right?”

“Ochette, don’t wander off.”

The inquisitor smiled as he watched Castti try to rein in their eager hunter. He could admit that there were many enticing aromas in the air, from fresh baked bread to sugary sweets to sizzling meat and seafood. Clearly it wasn’t just performers and spectators who had come from all over to take part in the Grand Gala. An event like this was probably a merchant’s paradise as well.

“What time will you be performing, Agnea?” asked Hikari, drawing the dancer out of her starstruck state.

“Not until this afternoon,” she replied. “That gives me plenty of time to look around.”

“Well then, why don’t we all take in the sights?” suggested Partitio. “It’s not every day we get to attend a shindig like this. Let’s make the most of it, alright?”

His suggestion was met with a chorus of agreement, and so without any further ado, their group of nine took to the streets, staying mostly together as they meandered around. There certainly was a lot to see and experience during the Grand Gala, and Temenos looked on in amusement as Castti pulled Ochette away from several stalls while Agnea dragged Throné around by the arm excitedly, chatting about crowds and festivals and even going so far as to invite the thief to a festival that took place in her own village—one centered around raspberries, apparently. Throné’s eyes lit up like a child’s at the mention of her favorite fruit, and Temenos could admit to some interest in the event as well when Agnea mentioned how amazing her sister’s raspberry pies were (he was rather fond of sweets, after all). That was reason enough to attend a festival, at least in his opinion, anyway.

Perhaps they could all attend, if the next one occurred after everyone’s business had been concluded. A rather pleasant thought, that. Surely they would all be able to spare the time, even their soon-to-be king of Ku. But that was a matter for another day, something to discuss much, much later. For now, he simply wanted to enjoy the Grand Gala, a chance to relax and support their dear dancer on her journey to become a star and inspire hope in others. Unlike many, she wasn’t doing this for fame or money or adoration but simply because she loved dancing and wanted to use her gift for the sake of others. To bring people joy in troubled times, to make them smile. It was a very kind, idealistic goal, and yet he wanted to believe that she could achieve it, that she could make it a reality. It was hard to remain cynical when faced with her blinding cheer.

She wholeheartedly believed that she could bring joy to the world through dance, and who was he to tell her otherwise? No one could predict the future, after all. Let it be shaped by the young and optimistic rather than by those who were selfish and too stuck in their ways. With people like Agnea, Hikari, and Partitio all working towards that beautiful, romanticized goal (not to mention the noble knight walking at his side), he couldn’t help but feel like Solistia was in good hands.

He watched as Agnea twirled through the streets as they walked, her blue eyes and bright smile a perfect match for the sky and sun.

Yes, he thought to himself. We are in good hands indeed.

...There were so many people. That was the first thought that had crossed Crick’s mind upon arriving in Merry Hills. He had been in crowds before, sure, but never one so full of energy, the streets filled with actors and musicians and even some poets, not to mention all those who had simply come to enjoy the shows. Everywhere he looked, people were smiling, and that continued to be the case as they made their way to the Shrine of Ul’sterra after parting ways with Agnea, needing to find seats for the upcoming Festival of Grace.

The dancer had assured them all that she would be fine on her own, that she just wanted to look around a little more and find her friend Giselle and the rest of the traveling comedy troupe she had met on her journey. After promising that she would not be late for her performance, no matter what, they had allowed her to go off while they walked through the busy streets and then the equally busy halls of the ancient shrine, marveling at the grand architecture, a place built to honor Sealticge and all she had stood for. Several dancers would be taking the stage, one right after the other, but the final event, the competition between Dolcinaea and Agnea was probably what had drawn such a massive crowd.

A good thing they had decided to look for seats early then, otherwise they might not have found any at all. Partitio and Throné managed to grab some good ones with a perfect view of the stage, and so with several snacks in hand (Ochette had insisted), there was nothing left for them to do but wait.

Crick was looking forward to it. He was pretty sure they all were—even Osvald, despite the man not seeming like the type to enjoy such a thing. He had overheard him, however, discussing a book called “The Western Dance Compendium” with Agnea the other day, so the scholar clearly had some appreciation for the art, enough to merit sitting through the entirety of the Festival of Grace. It was honestly a nice change of pace after everything they had gone through on Toto’haha, a chance to relax and cheer on their friend as she fought her own type of battle, one fueled by a simple yet heartfelt conviction. Agnea would give this everything she had, not just for herself but for all those who believed in her, for the town of Sai whose future hinged on the outcome of her duel.

He prayed that her nerves wouldn’t get to her, that she would perform just as gracefully and beautifully as she always did.

“This is pretty excitin’,” said Partitio as the time ticked ever closer to the opening act. “I can’t wait to watch Agnea dance upon that stage, and seeing this place is givin’ me all kinds of ideas. I’d love to have a concert hall built out in Oresrush. Maybe we could repurpose a few silver mines—they’re not good for much after they’ve been dug out. I bet a person’s voice would echo real nice in there.”

His pondering earned him a few sighs, a couple headshakes, and a bit of laughter at the idea.

“Always looking for an opportunity, aren’t you,” said Throné, clearly amused.

“Can you blame me? Seein’ all these people here is inspirin’! Plus, the west doesn’t really have any big ol’ stages like this. We gotta change that so Agnea’ll have more places to dance. She’ll be a star after today, I just know it. People will be clamorin’ for a chance to watch her perform.”

Crick hoped that would be the case. He very sincerely hoped that everything would go the way it needed to. He believed in Agnea, believed that she could do this, because she was doing it for all the right reasons. That kindness of hers would surely pay off. She was an incredible dancer, and soon people from all over the world would know it, would hold on to that experience but also share it, spreading word about her until she really did become a star.

All eight of them would be cheering her on. There was no way she could fail.

Everything would turn out alright.

Gradually, the seats around them began to fill up, engulfing the entire area in lively chatter that quickly died down when the first dancer finally took the stage, officially kicking off the Grand Gala’s biggest event, the Festival of Grace.

He could admit that this was a world he knew very little about, despite his mother’s attempts to teach him ballroom dancing when he was younger. Unfortunately, the lessons never really stuck, and he would be hard pressed to claim that he was at all disappointed by that. He just hadn’t had much interest in it, and in the end it would not have served him well anyway. His family’s fall from grace had ensured that fancy parties and balls were completely off the table, and truth be told, that wasn’t a great loss. Not for him, at least. He had always found those kinds of events dull as a kid, and being able to dance probably wouldn’t have changed that.

Now, however, as he watched the dancers perform upon the stage, set aglow by the light of the sun as music filled the air, he kind of wished that he had taken more of an interest in it, if only so that he could appreciate just how much work they had all put in, how hard they had struggled to reach this point. It took considerable stamina to do what they were doing, which meant repeating the same moves over and over, building up their strength and practicing their balance until they were capable of moving gracefully across a stage. At its core, it probably wasn’t all that different to the time he had spent training to become a knight. That part, at least, he could definitely appreciate.

As time continued to pass by, faster than he had thought it would, he found himself smiling as he saw Hermes take the stage, the woman they had managed to save back in Canalbrine. He was glad they had gotten there in time, that Temenos had been able to piece together the mystery that had led to them arriving at the tavern before Vados could take another life. It all seemed so long ago now, but those events had ended up having a much greater reach than he had originally thought. And now, seeing someone that he had protected, her smile soft but joyous as she moved gracefully to the gentle cadence of a melody that reminded him of the sea, he felt...content with what had happened. Content in the knowledge that he had done something good.

That he really could make a difference. That dedicating his life to others was a worthwhile pursuit.

As if he would ever choose to do otherwise at this point.

Hermes finished her dance with a graceful flourish, waving to all of her fans as she left the stage, and the next woman to take it, cloaked in an air of what felt like superiority, was clearly the one that so many had been waiting for, their excitement almost palpable in the vast room. She was the very picture of extravagance and would not have looked out of place at even a royal ball. He was certainly no expert, of course, but having grown up around nobles, he had seen his fair share of finery and expensive adornments, which decorated her flowing blue gown and golden hair in spades.

This was Dolcinaea, the most widely acclaimed dancer in the land, and she clearly knew that as she raised her hands and motioned for silence before speaking, her words and voice echoing the mindset of one who reveled in the fact that she was adored.

“Sealticge, Lady of Grace, is no more,” she began. “But in her place is another worthy of the title. She stands before you tonight to entertain you. Her name is...Dolcinaea Luciel!”

The audience applauded and cheered at the declaration, but Crick simply stood there and stared, shocked (and maybe even appalled) by what he had just heard.

How...how unbelievably arrogant, to compare herself to the Lady of Grace like that, to claim that she stood as an equal to a god! The sheer audacity of this woman, to speak so conceitedly of something sacred, especially when it was Agnea who had been—

A muffled chuckle to the right of him suddenly drew his attention, and he looked to see Temenos attempting to smother his mirth in the crook of his arm. Those green eyes glanced up at him, alight with humor.

“Apologies,” he said with a smile, laughter still coloring his tone. “It’s just that you really are so very easy to read. Your thoughts are writ plain across your face. ‘Such audacity, this woman, comparing herself to Sealticge like that.’ Am I right?”

He could feel his face flushing, though whether it was from embarrassment or irritation, he did not know. He really needed to get better at keeping his thoughts from showing so blatantly, but he got the feeling that skill was not easily learned.

Having been caught red-handed in his indignation, he figured there was no point in trying to deny it, and so he simply said what was on his mind.

“Well, it’s the truth,” he stated. “It’s arrogant to compare oneself to the gods, to claim to be their equal. Not even you are that blasphemous, Temenos.”

“I suppose not,” the cleric agreed, “although I also don’t hold them to the same untouchable degree that most of the church does. I would not have believed that I could learn Heavenly Shine otherwise. In any case, you needn’t worry about Dolcinaea. I am certain that our dear Agnea shall be humbling her soon enough.”

As if summoned by the inquisitor’s words, Crick watched as Agnea appeared on the stage and stood before Dolcinaea, somehow managing to look both determined and apprehensive at the same time. She had probably never danced before a crowd of this many people before, and he could absolutely understand being intimidated by it, but she was more than good enough to stand upon that stage with a continental superstar.

She could do this, and they would all be cheering her on.

As the performance started, music once again filling the air and echoing throughout the chamber, the knight found himself...genuinely in awe of both dancers, despite what he had said (and felt) earlier. He could maybe understand now how Dolcinaea had become so popular. Beneath that egotistical veneer was clearly someone who had put in a great deal of effort to get to where she was, someone who had refused to give up and who actually did seem to enjoy the art of dancing, not just the fame that it had brought her over the years.

The two of them were truly dazzling as they glided across the stage, their audience captivated, and when the song came to an end, they were met with a near deafening applause.

But as the people around them continued to chant Dolcinaea’s name, Crick could see some of that shining confidence in Agnea begin to waver, her expression falling as she looked out at the crowd. He did not like the way uncertainty and self-doubt looked upon her face, a sentiment that seemed to be shared by the rest of the travelers, but before any of them could call out, could raise their voices in support, someone else did it for them.

“Agnea!”

Later, he would come to learn that the man who had called out to her was her father, that the girl standing at his side was her sister, and that the entire section next to theirs had been filled with those who had come to Merry Hills to cheer her on. Their voices stretched across the divide, reaching her upon the stage, and just like that she was back on her feet, standing tall and determined, ready to continue with the part of this competition that would truly allow her to shine.

The song that she had been working so hard on over the past few months was called the “Song of Hope,” and as the musicians brought the notes to life, as Agnea’s voice gave it strength, he could practically feel the audience becoming enraptured by the eighteen-year-old dancer from Cropdale, a woman who believed in herself, believed in others, and who had been blessed by the Lady of Grace.

She was stunning up there on that stage as she moved the hearts of all around her, and he could swear that it was more than just the light of the sun that made her glow with each and every step. Passion and hope and grace personified was Agnea, her singing flawless, her moves perfect, and eventually even Dolcinaea seemed enchanted by the young woman that she had invited to this duel.

It was a strange type of magic that Agnea could wield, and it seemed that no one was immune to its effects.

In the end, everything went the way it was meant to, with the audience in complete awe, having witnessed the rising of a new star, and the two dancers supporting each other after what had probably been some of the most arduous performances of their lives. They had to be exhausted, the both of them, as they made their way down the stairs and disappeared beyond the pathway, but as the crowd began to chant “encore, encore,” it was Agnea alone who eventually returned to the stage.

And the people cheered.

...She had truly done it. She had accomplished her goal. She had moved the hearts of all in attendance, even Dolcinaea’s, and in doing so had protected the town of Sai where her mother had once performed.

“Mama always used to tell me that stars are a symbol of hope. They’re meant to bring smiles to people’s faces. That’s why I’m going to follow in her footsteps and become a star. I’m going to lift the spirits of as many people as I can, just you watch! Nothing’s impossible if you just keep trying.”

She really was incredible.

“There, what did I tell you?” said Temenos, his arms crossed over his chest and a pleased look upon his face. “A proud star has been humbled, a new one now rises, and all is as it should be. Some things, my dear Crick, are simply beyond doubt.”

“Even for you?” After all, doubt was what he did, and yet...

The look on his face became softer as he watched his friend dance upon that stage, shining in the light of the sun. Radiant in every way.

“...Even for me.”

Chapter Text

“It was so good to see all of you! I still can’t believe you really came all this way just to cheer me on!”

“Oh, come on now, Agnie. There’s no way we could’ve missed this. I think I speak for everyone when I say that seein’ you perform on that big ol’ stage made the long trip worth it. Though that carriage ride to get here was pretty bumpy... I thought I might fall off a few times.”

“Oh, Pala... Well, I hope you have a safe trip back. I’d offer to let you all sail with us, but I’m afraid we won’t be returning to the Leaflands for a while yet.”

“Don’t worry about it, Agnea. You just make sure to take care of yourself, you hear?”

“I will, Papa. I’ll see you all again soon, I promise.”

As he watched Agnea bid farewell to her family at the entrance of Merry Hills, Crick felt something rather...bittersweet wash over him. He was happy for her, happy that she got to see her family after so long, especially since they lived so far away—clear on the other side of Solistia—but at the same time it kind of made something hurt within him, something he had thought long buried. He didn’t miss his parents, not in the slightest, but a part of him did miss that connection, those moments when he was younger where he had felt genuinely loved. Unfortunately, losing their wealth and status had drained all of their kindness away as well, to the point where he had no longer felt cared for at all, and while he didn’t really have much desire to see either of them again, he could admit to occasionally wishing that he’d had people to write home to while training to be a knight, people he could have excitedly told about his anointment or even just about his life in general.

It was nice to see a family so devoted to each other, despite the loss they had suffered. Agnea’s mother sounded like an incredible person from the stories she had told him: a woman who had truly cared about others and had imparted those values unto her children. She had left behind a beautiful, strong family.

He prayed that nothing but fortune would find them and that they would be safe whilst returning home.

Once all of her goodbyes had been said (Agnea certainly had made a lot of friends on her journey to stardom), the nine of them double-checked to make sure they had all of their stuff, including the food they had bought for the long sea voyage ahead of them, and then took off down the stairs that would lead them back onto the road and towards their next destination. There was no time to rest since they were on a rather tight schedule and all, and while they did have a couple days’ leeway in case something went wrong, it was better not to push their luck. Setting sail as soon as possible was the best plan.

Their next destination was Roque Island, owned by the business tycoon Roque Brilliante himself. Because Partitio was going to buy the rights to the steam engine from him for eighty billion leaves.

That was...gods, that was an unfathomable amount of money. How did one even go about procuring so much...

“Did Alrond truly give you eighty billion leaves?” he found himself asking once they were all safely back aboard the Grand Terry with their path charted via their handy world map. It wasn’t all that different from the path they had taken to reach Merry Hills, just with a little extra distance since Roque Island was located west of Toto’haha. It was a good thing the announcement ceremony had still been a few weeks away when they departed the island, otherwise they might’ve had to split up. This group really was fortunate when it came to the timing of their goals.

With a bright grin on his face, Partitio replied, “He sure did! Alrond’s a nice guy, someone who wants what’s best for people and believes in a brighter future. All he wanted was for his town to prosper, and in return for helpin’ out, he gave me this here...oh, that’s right. Hey, Throné!”

The thief turned towards him from where she had been setting down a few of their supply bags on deck.

“What is it?”

“Can I see that check for a minute?”

A look of slight exasperation crossed her face as she made her way over, and Crick watched, confused, as she pulled out a very carefully folded slip of paper from a hidden pouch near her dagger sheath.

It made sense, in hindsight, that Alrond would have given Partitio a promissory note rather than eighty billion leaves in coin. He couldn’t even imagine trying to lug that kind of money around, but...why did the merchant...

Why did he give it to Throné?

There was a joke to be made there, surely.

Some of his thoughts, or just his curious bemusement, must’ve shown on his face, because the moment those dark eyes landed on him as she presented the check to Partitio, she said, “Trust me, the irony of this isn’t lost on me either.”

Good to know he wasn’t the only one.

Seriously, trusting a thief to safeguard eighty billion leaves... He knew, as did the rest of them, that she would never run off with it and leave her friend high and dry, but it was still pretty funny all things considered. Bifelgan’s chosen really was one of a kind. Crick was pretty sure that he had never met a merchant as generous or as trusting as Partitio seemed to be—someone who truly believed that he could change the world and make it more prosperous for everyone. That was a lifelong goal, to be sure. Drastic change like that was not the type of thing that could happen overnight. The rest of his life would probably be spent in dedication to that cause.

Hopefully he would be able to inspire others to join him in it. He was rather charismatic, to the point where even Alrond had chosen to invest in his dream for the future, a nobleman whose wealth was practically unrivaled. He would not have made that decision lightly. Clearly he trusted Partitio to make good on his investment.

Now all that needed to happen was for Roque to honor their contract. He didn’t really know much about the businessman, but “driven” and “ruthless” were two words that had come up a lot in rumors. And none of those rumors had been flattering. He hoped that nothing would go awry. They did have a written agreement, after all. How complicated could a business transaction possibly be?

(Very, he would come to find out).

“Here we go, take a gander at this! Eighty billion leaves, right here.”

Partitio presented the note to him, and Crick was hesitant to so much as touch it, because this was easily more money than most would see in a lifetime. Or several lifetimes. For someone to be able to give that kind of money away...just how rich was Alrond? Wealthiest noble in the west indeed.

He took the piece of paper very carefully, looked over the immaculately penned signature, and marveled at how light the weight of eighty billion could be, even while feeling like he held the very future in his hands.

It was a bit terrifying, truth be told.

“It’s rather incredible that you were entrusted with this,” he said as he handed the check back to Partitio, who in turn gave it back to Throné. “I haven’t been to Wellgrove in a long time, but I would very much like to see the department store you created. I imagine the town will have changed a great deal since the last time I saw it.”

“Maybe we’ll have time to stop by while we’re travelin’ through the Leaflands then. We’ll have to stock up on supplies somewhere, and Wellgrove’s as good a place as any, especially since it’s got everythin’ ya need in one convenient place. It might be nice to check in on the orphanage there too, see how things are goin’. I reckon those kids are a lot happier now that they’ve got a proper caretaker lookin’ after ‘em.”

That last comment was clearly aimed at Throné, who stiffened a bit at the mention of it but otherwise didn’t really react, her expression unreadable. She didn’t immediately dismiss the idea though, which made him wonder if she perhaps agreed with the sentiment. He wanted to ask about it, naturally, but made the decision not to. If the thief wanted to explain it to him, she would. It was also entirely possible that this was something he would be better off not knowing, and besides, if they did end up traveling to Wellgrove and visiting the orphanage, he could just learn about it then. There was no point in dredging up bad memories now.

It was time to cast off and set sail towards their next big adventure. They had a long eight days at sea ahead of them before reaching Roque Island, and Crick, for the next several (and potentially many more after that) had a vow he needed to keep.

In some ways, he was looking forward to it.

It would seem that his days, at least, were about to become very busy indeed.

This was, admittedly, a lot more work than he had thought it would be. Not that Crick had thought writing legal documents would be easy by any means—he wasn’t that naïve about the process—but he was starting to realize just how little he actually knew when it came to some of the work that was required of an inquisitor.

He wondered if Temenos had to do paperwork like this often or if the situation with the Sacred Guard was unique due to just how far reaching the corruption was, how extensive its crimes were. Many times when it came to heretics who actively sought to harm the church, the punishment was pretty swift. There typically weren’t long, drawn-out trials that required extensive documentation. Sometimes there wasn’t a trial at all. Yet another example of how the Sacred Guard had probably abused its power as an “independent investigative body” within the church. Historically, they were the sword and shield of the Order. He wondered if that had begun to change upon Kaldena’s appointment to captain or if there had been problems long before then as well. It wouldn’t surprise him, considering what he knew now.

There probably wasn’t much point in thinking about it, really. What was done was done, and the organization would either be forced to disband entirely or be restructured from the ground up. He was hoping for the latter. Its fate would be in the hands of the law, however, and hopefully everything would go well. That was why Temenos was putting so much effort into this, so that not a single detail was missed or a fact overlooked. Despite his disdain for the Sacred Guard, he would not suffer an unfair trial.

All he wanted was the truth.

(It really was admirable).

“...Is something wrong, Crick? You’ve stopped writing.”

The knight looked up from the paper in front of him and met a pair of curious green eyes across the table. It was good to see that the shadows beneath them were gone now since Temenos wasn’t keeping such unnecessarily late hours anymore, since he had decided to accept Crick’s offer to help. Currently, the two of them were in the study with several books spread out between them, along with a whole stack of blank paper. He had questioned the necessity of that at first (surely they didn’t need that much), but he had quickly found himself grateful for it, having gone through quite a few sheets already.

Writing detailed, formal reports like this had never been one of his strong suits, but he was determined to be of help. This had been his investigation too, after all.

“It’s nothing,” he replied, tapping his pen a bit absentmindedly against the paper. “I was just thinking about something is all.”

“About what?”

He knew better than to say “you” this time (never let it be said that he couldn’t learn his lesson), and instead went with the part he was the most curious about in his musings.

“I was wondering if you often write reports like this, as the inquisitor.”

“Not quite to this extent, no. In truth, the pontiff often handled most of the more arduous paperwork. That being said, this business with the Sacred Guard is by far the biggest inquiry that’s ever been brought before the Inquisition, and while I could have asked for help from the head cleric or some of the other members with many of these legal matters, I would rather handle this part myself. I must ensure that not a single detail is missed, especially when it comes to drafting the proposal. Unfortunately, while I do possess some understanding of the law, there is much I need to brush up on.”

Crick wasn’t that familiar with the law either, truthfully, aside from the ones that existed within the church. And the more common ones, of course, that were in place to protect people and maintain order. At the heart of it all was something far more complicated though, which was why judges and lawyers spent years of their lives studying. However, he still hadn’t thought that things would be quite this intricate when it came to passing judgment.

“Is a formal proposal really necessary?” he asked, curious more so than anything. He understood the need for investigation notes, but putting it all together into a carefully worded document seemed a bit much. He couldn’t remember anything like this being done by the knights, even the senior ones.

“In order to bring this before a judge and a court of law, yes,” Temenos replied before patiently explaining the matter. “Normally the church handles its own affairs, including the detainment and punishment of heretics—such has always been one of the duties of the Sacred Guard. Obviously that won’t be an option this time, and without the pontiff, the one who established the Inquisition, I fear that my authority alone is not enough. Thus we shall bring this before an impartial party, capable of judging the matter fairly, and since the church is not beholden to any one nation or kingdom, I have the liberty to choose whomever I wish.”

Crick looked at some of the legal books on the table, all marked with the symbol of Timberain, and came to what he was pretty sure was the correct conclusion.

“And you’ve chosen a judge from Timberain then?”

The inquisitor smiled, clearly pleased by that deduction.

“I have indeed. There is a somewhat young but very meticulous judge there who, much like myself, cares only about finding the truth. The pontiff introduced me to him while we were traveling through the Leaflands on business once, and I have had the pleasure of working with him a few times since my appointment to inquisitor. I am certain he will agree to preside over the matter—and as luck would have it, we shall be making our way to Timberain once Partitio secures his business deal. There should be plenty of time to speak with him about the trial once we thwart Trousseau’s plans to poison everyone during the coronation.”

The knight felt a sharp twist in his stomach.

Gods, the coronation...

Castti’s story—her whole reason for traveling, really—still managed to send a chill down his spine whenever he thought about it. He knew that there was darkness in the world, had seen more than enough of it for himself firsthand, but for a person to slaughter so indiscriminately like that and without a shred of remorse, believing that he was saving people...

How did someone who had been so dedicated to the wellbeing of others arrive at such a twisted, horrific conclusion? What had caused his mind and heart to splinter so? He knew that Castti still wished to save him, to try and bring him back to his senses, but she was also willing to do whatever was necessary to stop her former colleague from taking even one more life. Fortunately, they had plenty of time to make it to Timberain. The coronation had been announced months and months in advance in order to give people time to prepare and gather. The crown prince was fond of lavish celebrations, thus his desire for people from all across Solistia to attend.

If Trousseau succeeded, the devastation and its reach would be immense. But he wouldn’t, because they would stop him, one way or another. What happened in Healeaks would not happen again.

They would save the entire kingdom, and then everyone would learn that Eri’s Apothecaries had been a force for good in the world, not the monsters that so many believed them to be. One man’s actions did not define an organization, after all. Castti was the true heart of what her order had stood for.

Extending a helping hand to everyone in need... There was a lot to admire in that. It was no wonder that Dohter had chosen her. She was capable and generous in equal measure.

A skilled, kindhearted apothecary.

“...Goodness, look at the time.”

Pulled from his thoughts, he looked across the table at Temenos, who had his eyes on the clock that was hanging on the far wall. It was late in the evening now, the two of them having spent more time on this than they had originally intended to. The inquisitor, for the most part, had been trying to manage his time better lately, designating chunks of it to specific tasks and doing his best to adhere to a schedule. That was the only way to guarantee that he didn’t miss meals or lose sleep, and for the past few days it had been working out quite well. Even if he did still occasionally lose track of time.

“My apologies, Crick,” he said as he neatly stacked his papers, bookmarked the legal tome in front of him, and then grabbed the journal that he had been given by Osvald many moons ago. “I fear that I must call an end to our work for the day and get some studying done instead. Osvald is a relentless taskmaster, and I am expected to have this learned by the morrow. You are free to go if you wish.”

The knight looked down at the books on the table, then at the piece of paper he had been taking notes on, and then finally at the cleric sitting opposite from him who seemed perfectly at home in this kind of setting, in a quiet study reading a book. While the work before him was indeed difficult and somewhat tedious, he didn’t dislike it, and even though he would usually take his leave once Temenos called an end for the day, this time he just...didn’t want to. The inquisitor clearly intended to remain in the room for a while longer yet, and so a part of him felt compelled to stay as well.

The atmosphere within the study was peaceful. He could probably get a little more work done.

(It had absolutely nothing to do with wanting to spend more time with Temenos).

“I think I would rather keep working for now,” he said as he turned his attention back to his paper. “If it won’t be a bother to you, of course. I’m realizing that there is much about this process I don’t understand, and since I will be expected to testify during the trial, I would like to learn as much as I can while I have the time.”

He wanted to do what he could, learn what he could, because if he was going to be a part of the Inquisition someday, then there was no telling when this sort of information would prove useful. He needed to be as prepared as he possibly could be for whatever lay ahead of him. He also did not want to embarrass himself before the court. Testimonies were an important thing. He had promised Ort that they would testify against the Sacred Guard’s crimes together, because believing in and loving an organization did not mean turning a blind eye and ignoring what had been done (quite the opposite, in fact). He would always choose the righteous path, no matter how hard it was. How could he possibly call himself a knight otherwise?

Giving a testimony about the events that had occurred in Stormhail was a bit daunting, of course, especially since he had almost lost his life at Kaldena’s hands. However, he would not run from this, would not shy away from what needed to be done. He was determined to see this through, no matter what. He—

“You do not have to if you would rather not.”

Startled, the knight’s head shot up as he looked across the table once more, at the man sitting there with a shuttered expression and eyes that hid everything and nothing at the same time. He was very pointedly not looking at Crick.

“What?” Needless to say he was a bit surprised by that statement, not to mention the near repentant tone that it had been said in, and while he wouldn’t necessarily call the look upon the inquisitor’s face “guilty,” per se, it was certainly something close.

Temenos only hesitated a moment before elaborating.

“If you do not wish to testify as to the events that occurred in Stormhail, I will not ask you to. My own testimony and the supporting documentation should suffice.”

Crick simply sat there for a moment, confused, but it was a testament to just how much time he had been spending with Temenos lately when understanding dawned quickly after. There were several ways to take that statement, and all would be believable given the type of person that the inquisitor was, but he knew that it hadn’t been said due to a lack of faith in his ability, that this wasn’t about believing that he might not be able to properly recount what happened in front of not only his peers but a court of law.

Truly, this had nothing to do with his lack of knowledge when it came to the overall process or the fact that he had never been involved in a trial before. Instead, this was simply an attempt to spare him from something unpleasant, because almost being killed would naturally leave a lot of scars. And Temenos, despite how he sometimes behaved, was a lot more considerate than he allowed most people to see. The sentiment was certainly appreciated, the knowledge that the inquisitor cared about his wellbeing to such an extent, but the concern was unnecessary. Crick had already decided to face this, come what may.

He was already in the process of moving on.

“You needn’t try to shield me from this, Temenos,” he said, not unkindly, as he offered the cleric an understanding smile. “I assure you that I have already made my peace with what happened. While I would be lying if I said that I don’t dwell on it from time to time, I am more than capable of moving on, and I think this trial will help to put a lot of things to rest. I intend to stand at your side during it, just like with everything else. You shall not be alone in this. I give you my word.”

Those green eyes blinked at him, looking a little surprised at that admission, before they began to soften as a smile spread across the inquisitor’s face. It was a touch rueful, a touch sad, yet still warm in its regard.

“You truly are resilient, my little lamb,” he said. “Far more so than most. Very well then, I shall not bring it up again. And you are more than welcome to remain here and work while I study. It is no bother, and I am always grateful for your company.”

With that said, Temenos gave his attention back to the journal in his hands, leaving Crick feeling a little...lost, in all honesty. Lost because he wasn’t sure whether or not he should read into those words. He had just essentially been told that the inquisitor liked spending time with him, that he was grateful to have him around, even for something as simple and mundane as sitting together in the study. While Crick felt much the same, he hadn’t really been expecting it to go both ways, and in truth he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that. He could feel the beginnings of a very pleased smile attempting to spread across his face, and so in an attempt to hide the effect that Temenos’s words had just had on him, he turned his gaze to the notes he had been writing and willed himself to get back to work.

If his company truly was welcome, then he would stay for as long as he could.

(And if he intended to stay for far longer than that, even after all of their work was done, well...surely that would be alright too).

...This had to be, by far, one of the worst ideas that any of them had ever had, and that was saying something. There were so many ways for this to go so horribly wrong.

And Temenos, despite himself—for some godsforsaken reason—had agreed to (very reluctantly, he might add) go along with it. He was starting to regret that decision now as he found himself standing upon the deck, staring out across the ocean as they sailed steadily towards the strait. Actually, he had pretty much started to regret his decision the moment the words of consent had left his mouth. Why did he agree to something so unbelievably foolish?

Though perhaps the real question was why did the lot of them have to decide on something so unbelievably foolish? Some of them were clearly too optimistic and altruistic for their own good (or his). If this went poorly...

“Are you certain about this, Osvald? In hindsight, this seems like an excellent way to put a hole in our ship.”

Osvald, the man in question, was currently steering said ship. Honestly, Temenos hadn’t even realized that he knew how to steer a ship. Apparently he had been learning over the past several days from the helmsman that Partitio had hired (a member of the very small yet capable crew who helped to maintain the Grand Terry), which did not seem like long enough to actually become adept at it, but apparently the man was an extremely fast, not to mention apt learner.

And his reasons for wanting to learn how to steer the ship? So that he could be behind the wheel for this extremely stupid idea.

“We all agreed that it would be in everyone’s best interests to do this,” the man replied. “We cannot simply run away every time we need to travel through the strait, and other ships are ill-equipped to deal with the Scourge of the Sea. This will benefit all in the long run. Our group stands the best chance at getting rid of that thing.”

“I see no ‘group’ here. I see you steering the ship while I am expected to face down a massive beast, alone, using the advanced form of a spell that I have only recently mastered.”

“It can’t be helped. Everyone else has to remain below deck. Fortunately your light magic doesn’t pass through structures and instead just flows around it, otherwise this wouldn’t be an option at all.”

He couldn’t help thinking that this shouldn’t be an option regardless of the mechanics behind it, but it was far too late for that now. He should’ve just said no. While he did have a good deal of faith in himself, he wasn’t arrogant enough to think that he could simply pull this off without a hitch, despite the fact that many of his companions seemed to have confidence in his ability to do so. Partitio, who was technically the owner of their beautiful ship that was about to be put in jeopardy, hadn’t seemed concerned about this endeavor in the slightest.

“You got this, Temenos! See, I knew this would be the right call eventually. And with that thing gone, maybe I can get a harbor built in the Crestlands someday. Little by little, this whole world is gonna start gettin’ closer, you’ll see.”

Temenos breathed a deep sigh and tried one more time to be the voice of reason.

“You do realize that if that Sacred Shield I cast on you doesn’t hold, you will be caught in the blast.”

“I’ve equipped myself with an accessory that greatly reduces the damage caused by light magic should the shield break before the spell ends,” Osvald told him, not sounding worried in the slightest. “You don’t have to concern yourself with me. I will not pass up this chance to see how the spell forms up close. The risk is well worth the amount of information I can gather while being within the radius.”

Well, so much for that attempt. Clearly having a few screws loose must be a requirement when it came to being a magical scholar (he chose to ignore the fact that the same could probably be said about him).

He still firmly believed that this plan was a foolish one, because there was every chance this could all go horribly wrong. With just him and Osvald on deck and everyone else below, there would be little they could do against the Scourge of the Sea if this didn’t work, if the thing somehow survived. A lot was riding on him in particular, and while that usually didn’t bother him too much, this situation could literally get them all killed. He had wanted his first attempt at using the next stage of Heavenly Shine to not involve a life-or-death situation, where he could maybe take his time and not have to worry about the consequences of failing. However, he also understood that having a powerful foe to test it on was kind of a necessity, that it would be hard to gauge its effectiveness on just your everyday, run-of-the-mill monsters. And using it on people was obviously out of the question (unless someone was attempting to bring about an end to the world or something. Exceptions could be made at that point).

So, here he was, about to face down a creature as big as their ship with little more than faith to aid him. While it was true that Ochette had asked Glacis to be on standby and intervene should things take a turn for the worse, there were still a lot of ways for this to go poorly. Sure, he had wanted an opportunity to put everything he had been studying into practice, but this did not seem like the ideal way to go about it.

He was nervous. And maybe a little indignant.

(And maybe, though he would never admit to it, just the tiniest bit intrigued).

Temenos had a lot of concerns about this, obviously, many of which had fallen on deaf ears, but there was at least one concern he had that needed to be addressed before they went any further.

“And just what, may I ask, are you doing out here, little lamb?”

He glanced over his shoulder to see a rather guilty-looking Crick standing behind him. He was supposed to have gone below deck with the others.

“Did we not specifically tell you all to leave?”

“You did.”

“And yet here you are. You know you cannot be out here when I’m casting. While Osvald is here due to a necessity as someone needs to steer the ship, there is no reason for you to still be above deck.”

“I know, but...”

“But what?”

Crick rubbed the back of his neck, seemingly at a loss for how to respond, before he worriedly asked, “What if something goes wrong?”

A bit of his irritation melted at those words. The concern for his safety was appreciated, but at the end of the day there was little point in thinking about what-ifs. This was the course of action that had been decided upon, and nothing could really be done about it now. Most of them couldn’t really do much against the Scourge of the Sea anyway. It would be problematic to allow the thing to get too close in order to attack it from melee range. This was for the best (unfortunately).

“If it does,” he replied, “I fear there is very little you would be able to do about it. I shall be fine, Crick, and even if something goes wrong, I am certain that Glacis will intervene. I may not like this plan since it relies on me actually putting what I have been studying into practice with no actual ‘practice’ to speak of, but there truly is no better way to go about this. Please go below deck with the others and watch through the portholes if you so wish. We’ve little time left. If the beast decides to attack us, then it will likely show itself soon.”

Crick still seemed reluctant to leave, and as much as he admired that steadfast loyalty (what had he ever done to deserve a knight so faithful?), he could not let him remain. There was no reason for him to stay aside from concern and his own stubbornness, neither of which were good enough to warrant putting himself at risk.

Perhaps a compromise, then.

“If you truly do not wish to leave, then I suppose you could watch from the cabin behind the helm. While heading below deck would certainly be safer, so long as you make sure that the door and windows are tightly closed, there shouldn’t be an issue. Though, just in case...”

He turned fully towards his knight and drew on his magic. Just a bit of it.

“Keep harm at bay, O sacred shield.”

A blue, translucent shield formed in front of Crick, who looked at it in surprise. Perhaps he had thought that Temenos would outright deny his obvious wish to remain close by, and while in some ways he was denying him (he would never allow his little lamb to do what Osvald was about to), this was clearly enough to appease the man as he offered the cleric a nod and a small smile.

“Thank you, Temenos,” he said. “I promise that I will keep myself out of danger.”

“See that you do. Now off with you—we are nearly to the strait. I need time to prepare myself.”

“Of course.”

He watched, just for a moment, to make sure that Crick actually was doing what he had told him to, before returning his gaze to the ocean. Just to be safe, he took out a small bottle that Castti had given him—a concoction of plum leaf and pomegranate—and drank a few sips from it to replenish the bit of magic he had used before tucking it away and focusing on what he needed to do.

First, the Advanced Magic enchantment. That part, at least, he had been able to practice. He had learned the spell, plus all of the formulas that could be used in conjunction with it, and so Osvald had made him cast it several times over the last few days while using Luminescence (or Radiance, as the second-tier spell was known) in order to try out various things. It had taken a lot of studying, but he had managed to get all of it right on his third try and then every subsequent one thereafter. He had always been a fairly quick learner.

The inquisitor took a deep breath, said the incantation, and felt the spell take effect. He then tried to recall all of the calculations he needed. This time around he would have to control the size of it, because unfortunately he had no way of knowing just how close or far the Scourge of the Sea would be. He couldn’t allow it to draw too close, but it could very well surface close by if it chose to sneak up on them for a change, and so he had to be ready for anything. More than likely though he would probably have to expand his spell in order to reach it, to keep it at a safe distance from their ship, and so he went through everything he needed and kept it all at the forefront of his mind, steeling himself for what was to come.

No matter what, he could not allow himself to give in to uncertainty or fear. His companions’ optimism aside, this was still very risky, and he knew that it was risky, but panic would do him no good. He needed to believe that this was possible, that he could handle it, just like before.

After all, he had almost managed to stop a Shadow-infused Kaldena and had even wiped out an entire horde of monsters with Heavenly Shine—and now, with Divine Brilliance, he would take out the destroyer of many ships, the aptly named Scourge of the Sea. This would be the last time it terrorized the southeastern waters. Hopefully. That was the plan, anyway. It still seemed reckless, and this was not something he ever would have come up with on his own, but here he stood regardless. This group certainly didn’t shy away from taking risks, that was for sure (and he would be lying if he said that he didn’t count himself among them, especially considering some of his more recent actions).

“We’re getting close,” said Osvald as he kept the ship steady. “It’ll likely surface once we’re near the rocks. Be sure to watch for any abnormalities on the water’s surface. We unfortunately don’t have the advantage of Ochette’s senses this time.”

Indeed they did not. Perhaps it would have been wise to allow her to remain on deck until the monster was in sight. She had wanted to, originally, and truth be told, once she inevitably found out that he had allowed Crick to remain above and watch from the cabin, she would probably be a little upset with him about it. She would likely mope for a few minutes before eventually getting over it and making him promise to let her watch the next time or something (though hopefully there wouldn’t be a “next time” while they were out at sea, but he would make her a promise nonetheless). Her ability to sense beasts would have definitely come in handy for this, to guarantee that they wouldn’t get taken by surprise, but they would simply have to trust that if the monster did suddenly pop up right next to them, Glacis would swoop in to assist.

He was tempted to search for the massive bird in the skies above them but knew that he couldn’t afford to look away from the water. With their luck, the Scourge of the Sea would surface during the few moments he was looking at the legendary beast, and since this all hinged on him casting a spell, he couldn’t afford to get distracted. So instead, he started drawing on his magic. He had best get himself as prepared as possible for when the creature inevitably appeared.

Fortunately, they didn’t have to wait too long. Sure enough, once they drew a little closer to the rocks, the water out in front of them began to ripple and swirl before rising in a watery mound to reveal the now familiar sight of the Scourge of the Sea. It was still just as unsettling as before. Hopefully this would be the last time they had to deal with it.

“Are you ready?” asked Osvald as the creature roared, its glowing eyes watching them with what felt like contempt. It was clearly still angry. Talk about holding a grudge...

“As much as I can be,” he replied. He had done all he could to prepare for this. Now it was time to see if it would be enough.

Over the past two weeks, he had poured through several books of scripture, including that one from the library, trying to find inspiration or just more information about Heavenly Shine. Unfortunately, there had been very little for him to go off of (not surprising), but certain words and phrases had resonated with him during his search. Whether that was because of his status as the Flamebringer’s chosen or simply his own preferences, he didn’t know, nor did it much matter, because what did matter was that he had found both a name and an incantation for the next tier of his spell.

Words gave magic power, and if there was no preexisting precedent for it, then as probably the first human to attempt Heavenly Shine, it fell to him to create one.

And he had chosen “Divine Brilliance.” Best to stick close to the original name, just...enhanced, so to speak. A step above in a sense, to signify an increase in power. That was how all of the currently known spells had been named, after all.

...He could do this.

Despite all of his misgivings about how terrible of an idea this was, he could absolutely do this.

“It’s coming,” said Osvald, and sure enough the Scourge of the Sea was making its way towards them, those clawed hands held out before it like how many depicted specters and wraiths. It did sort of look like one, truth be told, but the thing before them was made of flesh and blood and could therefore be taken down just like every other monster they had faced.

It was kind of funny, in a sense, how throughout the course of them exploring the world, they had slowly but surely been making it a safer place. Just how many beasts like this had they taken down now? It was starting to feel like too many to count. Hopefully this one would fall just the same.

And hopefully it would not take their ship down with it. Part of his job was to make sure that didn’t happen.

He had best get on with it.

Temenos channeled all of his magic, allowing it to course through him, that feeling of fire in his veins a familiar one now. He was no longer just a conduit for it, having gained a decent measure of control, and as the light began to gather around him, as he watched the Scourge of the Sea draw closer—close enough for him to reach—he wasted no time putting his last two weeks of studying into practice.

“Aelfric,” he called, beseeching the Flamebringer once more as he transformed the entirety of his spirit into holy light, as he drew upon words that he had pulled from the scripture, from the lips of the gods themselves, “purge these cretins!”

And just like always, that beautiful golden light surrounding him exploded, expanding outward in a brilliant shining dome. But it wasn’t the same as the other times. The magic that flowed from him felt like so much more, and not just because he was wearing the amulet that Throné had found for him in the armory. It was almost overwhelming—the brightness, the power, the way it made him feel weightless as he stood there upon the deck. His control felt like such a tentative thing in the end, as if one lapse in concentration would cause him to lose it entirely, but he tried to stand firm and maintain his focus for both his sake and the sake of their ship. This needed to work—they didn’t have a backup plan—and he was the only one capable of making it. He had not spent all of that time studying and practicing only to fail when it mattered most.

He heard the Scourge of the Sea wail as the light struck it, could almost feel the impact himself as Divine Brilliance hit the creature twice. Hopefully the dreadful thing would be burned away, reduced to ash by holy flame, because he did not want to consider what might happen if it survived. Glacis was supposed to be on standby, watching intently in case something went wrong. He hoped that nothing would. He really did want this to work. He wanted to be able to handle it, something this incredible, despite all of his misgivings about the situation.

Eventually, the magic began to fade from the air, the light fading along with it, and once he was capable of opening his eyes without being blinded (he wondered how Osvald had fared, perhaps he should have warned him about the intensity), the inquisitor took a deep breath and looked out at the ocean before him.

There it was, the Scourge of the Sea, the massive blue monster that looked like flowing water given form. There was smoke and ash pouring from its body, twisting through the air as it slowly disintegrated, and while it wasn’t exactly dead just yet, it was clearly on the way there. Its body was trembling as it reached out with one clawed hand, as if it could somehow bridge the distance and land a blow on their vessel, an impossibility given the space that existed between. It was a rather pitiful sight. He might’ve felt sorry for the thing if not for the fact that it was responsible for having sunk several ships and had also attempted to sink their own. Getting rid of it truly was for the best.

As he watched it floating there, Temenos made sure to remain perfectly still, to focus on his breathing, because while he had managed to cast Heavenly Shine without issue the last time, Osvald had made it perfectly clear that he could not predict how much strain advancing the spell would end up placing on his body. He could already feel a heaviness setting in, exhaustion pulling at the edge of his mind, and the last thing he wanted was to go completely numb or pass out again after having made so much progress with his spell.

Caution was necessary if he didn’t want to end up unconscious on the floor (and he very much didn’t).

Those glowing eyes were flickering like two waning candles as more and more of its body faded away, and with one final, haunting groan, they flickered out completely as it fell forward into the water.

...It was over. It was actually over.

Or, at least, it would’ve been over, had the thing not been reaching for their ship.

Had it not managed to launch a single attack before succumbing to its fate.

Seriously, just...why? Why was it always like this? Just once it would be nice to catch a break!

A vortex of swirling water rose from where its clawed hand touched the ocean and travelled rapidly towards their slowly moving ship. Temenos knew that it wouldn’t be enough to cause any actual damage to the Grand Terry, due to the monster having used it on them during their first battle with it, but...

But he was kind of right in the water’s path, wasn’t he? While getting hit would definitely hurt, something that he knew firsthand, he wasn’t really concerned about that part. Instead, his immediate concern was the fact that the force of the attack could very easily throw him from the ship given how close to the guardrail he was standing. He needed to get out of the way, which normally would not have been an issue, but when he tried to move, the exhaustion hit him full force. His legs nearly buckled on the first step, preventing him from taking any more in order to right himself, and as he watched that spinning vortex of water rush towards him, all he could really do was hope that if he did get knocked overboard, Glacis would swoop in and save him from his potential death.

Perhaps that was a bit dramatic, but still...he very much did not want to end up in the ocean.

Thankfully, his fears were unfounded. A hand suddenly grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him forcibly back, and when he stumbled, an arm wrapped around his waist and drew him even further away from the swirling water as it crashed into their ship. The Grand Terry wobbled upon the waves for a moment as the Scourge of the Sea’s final attack rushed across the deck, but in no time at all it dispersed, splashing water everywhere (someone would have to mop that up later), and as soon as the rocking ceased, he both heard and felt a sigh of relief come from behind him.

“Are you alright, Temenos?”

Such a simple, genuine question, and yet he did not have the words to answer, too caught off guard by everything that had happened. Perhaps he was a little bit grateful that Crick had stayed above deck after all. His little lamb had just saved him from potentially falling off the ship in addition to ending up soaked to the bone. That would’ve been a rather miserable condition to be in, especially since what strength he had left after casting Divine Brilliance was quickly fading. He would be completely spent pretty soon.

The arm around him shifted, just a bit, but it didn’t let go. That was probably for the best, really, since he wasn’t sure how well he could stand on his own right now, and while it was a bit...awkward to be held so closely, he didn’t necessarily mind it. Truth be told, he found that he didn’t really mind it at all. The feeling that washed over him wasn’t quite contentment, but perhaps a sense of...safety? Of relief? Though perhaps that was simply due to the fact that the danger was finally over and he had been spared from a watery fate. He honestly didn’t know. It was kind of hard to focus on any one thing, including the man holding him, when there was darkness slowly encroaching on his vision (no matter how solid and reassuring that presence at his back was).

He should probably sit down before his legs gave out.

“Temenos?”

It would also probably be a good idea to say something.

“I...I am fine, Crick.”

The arm around him tightened, followed by a soft admonishment of, “No, you’re not. I can feel you shaking.”

Fair enough. There was little point in trying to pretend or placate when every part of him was giving the truth away.

“I’m just tired is all,” he said. “And I suppose a bit...lightheaded. I should very much like to sit down for a moment.”

He felt the knight flinch, just a bit, before saying, “Oh, r-right, of course,” as if something had just dawned on him, something a bit startling given that nervous little stutter in his voice. Unfortunately, Temenos didn’t have it in himself right now to try and analyze it, to figure out the reason behind that shift in Crick’s tone. Instead he put all of his concentration towards walking as the knight helped him over to the railing and then lowered him carefully onto the floor.

The cleric breathed a deep sigh of relief as soon as he was seated and then took just a moment to evaluate his condition. He was exhausted, which was only natural given how much magic he had used and the intensity of the spell, and while he was also a bit dizzy, there was thankfully no headache or nausea to accompany it. There was a good deal of weakness in his limbs though, his arm trembling as he attempted to raise it, forcing his fingers to curl into a fist just to make sure there was no numbness setting in.

There wasn’t. A small mercy.

“Well, at least I haven’t lost any feeling this time,” he said to no one in particular. “I suppose that’s something.”

He looked over at Crick, who had dropped to one knee next to him, looking a little concerned. The inquisitor tried to peer past him, towards the direction of the helm, but quickly realized that he couldn’t see it from where he was sitting. He had no idea if Osvald was okay, if Sacred Shield had held up under the onslaught of holy light. But Crick would’ve had to pass by him in order to reach the inquisitor, so perhaps he knew.

“Is Osvald alright?” he asked the knight.

“He seemed alright when I saw him,” Crick replied, glancing over his shoulder at where the scholar was to make sure. “He appears to be fine.”

That was a relief. Temenos hadn’t been sure how well Sacred Shield would work against a spell like that, but apparently it really could block even an incredibly powerful one in its entirety. That was good to know. He might have to make use of that information someday.

“Good,” he said with a sigh. “And what of you, little lamb? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Temenos. I did as you said and remained in the cabin.”

“While that is certainly a relief, may I ask why, exactly, you were so determined to remain above deck? No one else chose to disobey my instructions.”

To his credit, Crick did look a little guilty about it, avoiding the inquisitor’s gaze as he rubbed the back of his neck, and when he didn’t offer up any sort of answer to the question, Temenos decided to have a bit of fun at his friend’s expense. Surely some amusement was owed to him at this point, considering what he had more or less been forced to do (he could’ve said no, technically, but something told him that his friends would’ve probably talked him into agreeing regardless. He was not immune to pleading, as much as he liked to pretend otherwise).

With what was definitely faux dismay in his voice, he asked, “Do you truly have so little faith in me, my dear Godsblade?”

“What? No!” Those blue eyes immediately turned to him, wide and beseeching. “That wasn’t it at all! I was just...I know you can take care of yourself, but I just wanted to be close by in case something happened, and...”

Temenos tried not to smile as Crick nervously searched for an explanation, clearly worried that he might have caused offense despite his very noble intentions. He really was far too endearing for his own good, this young, earnest knight.

“Well,” the cleric began, deciding to give him a break for once, “it would seem that those knightly instincts of yours proved to be right this time. I may very well have been thrown from the ship by that attack. You have my thanks, Crick.”

The knight breathed a deep sigh, ran a hand down his face and said, “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

It was at that point that the rest of their friends emerged from the doorway that led below deck.

Castti was at this side in seconds.

“Are you alright?” she asked, pressing a hand to his forehead and grabbing his wrist to check his pulse. While he didn’t feel particularly terrible or anything, just tired and devoid of strength, he clearly must have looked worse for wear given the fuss she was making. He would allow her to fret over him this time, he supposed, since during their conversation about the Scourge of the Sea the other day, she hadn’t been all that thrilled with this idea either. Knowing her, she had probably been anxious throughout the entire ordeal.

If there was indeed anything wrong with him, he knew that he was in good hands.

“I feel fine, Castti,” he told her, in answer to her question. “Just tired and a little drained is all. Nothing more.”

He knew that wouldn’t be enough to placate her, but perhaps it would be enough to remove some of those wrinkles from her brow.

The inquisitor looked up at the rest of his friends, taking note of their various expressions (worry, relief, awe, elation) before asking with a knowing grin, “So, did you all enjoy watching from the portholes? I assume that’s what you were doing.”

“We did,” replied Throné. “That was pretty impressive, Detective.”

“I’ll say!” agreed Partitio, grinning from ear to ear. “I knew that spell o’ yours would work! Now we don’t gotta worry about that monster ever again.”

“That was some great stuff, Temenos!” said Ochette. “The light was so bright, it was kind of hard to see what was happening, but you took care of that thing like it was nothing! Still no dragon though, but I guess a giant bubble’s alright too.”

That final comment was met with several looks of confusion while Throné quickly covered her grin with her hand and Temenos tried but failed to contain his laughter. Honestly, of all the... Gods, he prayed that she would never change. Their journey would have been far less entertaining without her around to lighten the mood.

“I’m glad it meets your approval,” he said with a smile. “I suppose I have a ways to go yet if this is the state it leaves me in, but compared to when I first tried to cast Heavenly Shine, I think it’s a considerable improvement.”

“Indeed,” agreed Osvald as the scholar made his way down the stairs from the helm to join them (the helmsman must have returned from below deck as well). “For a first attempt, it went rather well. It can be hard to apply complex calculations to a spell, especially one of that scale, but you were able to manage it on your first try. Not bad, Temenos.”

A “not bad” from Osvald was probably the equivalent of a “phenomenal” from anyone else. He’d take it. The two of them could certainly talk about it more later during one of their practice sessions, but for now that simple evaluation would suffice. He wasn’t really in an ideal state to have a long, drawn-out conversation about magic right now. Even if he might like to.

“Well,” began Castti as she shifted away, her check-up now complete, “nothing appears to be wrong, although you are quite pale. You should probably spend the remainder of the day resting in your room. I can have someone bring you dinner later if your strength still hasn’t returned.”

“Couldn’t you just give me a—”

“No. No skybalm. Herbs are not an adequate substitute for sleep.”

“Very well.” So much for that attempt. It would seem that he wasn’t going to be getting any more work done today, unfortunately. Probably for the best, all things considered. He would likely just end up falling asleep while reading even with a skybalm tincture. He could take one day to recuperate. That wouldn’t be too great of a loss.

The problem would be getting back to his room though.

With the threat of the Scourge of the Sea now over and Castti’s verdict about his health given, everyone began to return to what they had been doing prior to approaching the strait. The inquisitor took just a moment more to sit there and regain his bearings before deciding that he might as well attempt to stand. There was a possibility that he would be able to walk, albeit very slowly, but he wouldn’t know for sure until he tried.

...It did not go well. It actually didn’t “go” at all. While he was still very grateful for the lack of numbness and counted that as a huge success—proof that his body had truly acclimated to expending all of his spirit in a single spell—the weakness, the sheer lack of strength in his limbs, was something that he could have definitely done without. It was a little frustrating not being able to get to his feet. He had managed to get his legs under him, but rising from that position was an impossibility even while attempting to pull himself up by using the guardrail.

He might just have to resign himself to sleeping on the deck.

Or he would have, if not for the fact that Crick had chosen to stay by his side. That was probably why the rest of his friends hadn’t felt the need to remain close by. Castti in particular would not have left him unattended otherwise. Most of them wouldn’t have, truthfully, at least not without making sure that he could manage by himself. Apparently his little lamb had earned a great deal of their trust when it came to looking after him. In all honesty, he wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about that.

“Do you need help, Temenos?” the knight asked, his brow furrowing a bit in concern. “I could carry you back to your room if you cannot make it there on your own.”

He honestly didn’t know how to feel about that either. It was an innocent enough offer with not a hint of sarcasm or amusement to be found. Crick was just being his normal considerate, chivalrous self. And it was true that Temenos couldn’t stand on his own. There was very little chance of him making it back to his room given the state he was in, and so it would be in his best interest to accept the offer.

That being said, being carried was kind of... Well, it was kind of humiliating. Few things could embarrass him—his reputation for being unflappable had been earned, after all—but this was unfortunately one thing that sort of crossed the line. Under normal circumstances it wouldn’t bother him, but under normal circumstances he also wouldn’t need to be carried. If there had been no one else around, he would not have minded in the slightest (probably), but that definitely wasn’t the case right now. Some of his friends would likely try to tease him about it later (a certain thief certainly came to mind).

Decisions, decisions...

In the end, he decided that he was simply too tired to care. As the exhaustion began to creep in on him even more, blurring his vision around the edges, he found that all he wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep. No matter the means of getting there.

“I suppose I shall accept your offer,” he replied in defeat, biting back a yawn, “as it seems I am incapable of walking at the moment.”

Swallowing his pride was a small price to pay in this regard.

It took them a moment, mostly due to the fact that Temenos couldn’t exactly move properly (he could barely move at all), but eventually, after a bit of effort, he found himself being carried on his Godsblade’s back. Like a child.

(Maybe swallowing his pride entirely was a little harder than he had thought).

The inquisitor had known, for the most part, that Crick was relatively strong, what with being a knight and all, but to be able to pick him up so effortlessly and to support his weight without any issue...

Put simply, he wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about that (a common trend today, apparently). It wasn’t exactly irritating, even if it did make him feel a bit awkward, but for some reason he was having trouble pinning down the odd sensation in his chest. Being tired had never really been conducive for his critical thinking and reasoning skills. His mind actually felt quite sluggish all of a sudden, which was probably why he was having such a hard time figuring this out.

He breathed a sigh and dropped his head onto the knight’s shoulder, wrapping his arms a bit more tightly around him. He told himself it was to make sure he didn’t fall off. He wasn’t sure if that was the actual reason or not.

“Is something wrong?” Crick asked, clearly choosing to interpret his sigh as one of mild distress. He technically wasn’t wrong.

“No, not particularly,” he replied. “This is just...somewhat embarrassing, I suppose.”

“Oh? And here I thought you didn’t care how people saw you.”

...Why that cheeky little—

There was definitely amusement in his tone, and the cleric could easily picture the smile that was no doubt spreading across his face. He would be lying if he said that he didn’t enjoy those moments, the ones where Crick chose to give as good as he got. They had been happening more and more lately. A sure sign that he was becoming increasingly comfortable as a member of their ragtag group.

“Throwing my own words back at me, are you? I guess I deserve that for my comment earlier...”

Crick didn’t say anything to that at first, nor did he start moving in the direction that would lead them below deck. Instead, Temenos felt the arms supporting him shift a bit before the knight curiously asked, “Would you prefer that I carry you another way?”

Yet another innocent, considerate question, with not a trace of sarcasm to be found. His dear Godsblade was legitimately asking if he had a preference, even though he had mostly just been complaining for the sake of it, because having to be carried in any manner was embarrassing to some extent. He took a quick moment to consider it, but seeing as how his only other options were to be carried over the knight’s shoulder like a bag of vegetables or in his arms like some sort of damsel or a lov—

“No, no,” he said quickly. “This is quite alright. I have no further complaints, I assure you.”

He needed to banish that very damning thought from his mind. It had no place there. He definitely needed sleep. He needed sleep right now. His mind had always had a habit of wandering when he was tired, and lately it had been wandering towards some very problematic places. That needed to stop.

“Let’s just be on our way now, shall we?”

He very much needed it to stop.

As they began to make their way across the deck, he kept his eyes closed and his face mostly buried in Crick’s shoulder. He didn’t really have the energy left to raise it, and the cleric knew—he knew that he should just keep his mouth shut, that he should remain silent as he was carried to his room, but staying quiet wasn’t in his nature, even when there was a risk of potentially saying something he might regret. Besides, curiosity had always been a troublesome thing, and a part of him couldn’t help but wonder what that moment had been like for Crick, standing in the cabin and watching him cast Divine Brilliance up close. While Osvald’s observations were sure to be more scientific and logical, how did the perspective of someone who didn’t really use magic differ? What was his verdict?

He may as well ask. Surely there was no harm in a simple question.

“So,” he began once they started to descend the stairs that would lead them to the personal cabins, “what did you think of my spell after getting to see it up close? Or was it perhaps too bright for you to truly see anything?”

Crick didn’t answer him right away, to the point where Temenos thought that he might not answer him at all, but eventually he settled on a soft but genuine, “It was incredible. The light was only too bright to look at during the first few seconds, but after that...”

“After that?” he prompted when the knight didn’t continue his thought. Again Crick took a while to answer him, seemingly searching for the right words to say, and the cleric wished that he could see the man’s face, to see what kind of expression was on there, but he still didn’t have the energy to raise his head. So instead he waited for his little lamb to collect his thoughts. There was little point in trying to push him to continue.

After another moment or so, his patience was rewarded.

“It was like being surrounded by the Sacred Flame itself,” he said, with a quiet note of what might have been reverence in his voice. “I...I know that you were only quoting the scripture that time at the cathedral in order to justify your actions, but the gods ‘did give their messengers flame to light the way forward,’ and...in that moment, Temenos, you truly did look like a messenger of the gods.”

The inquisitor felt his breath catch, though he thankfully didn’t make a sound.

Put simply, he did...he did not know what to say to that. He wasn’t sure what to do with it either. Maybe he shouldn’t have bothered asking at all. Just how many times lately had he found himself feeling disoriented and caught off guard by his wayward little lamb? And seriously, how could Crick just...say something like that, as if it were completely natural, as if the comparison was simply a fact and not an opinion, as if Temenos was actually deserving of such praise.

Honestly, for a man who was so easy to fluster, it always amazed him how effortlessly he could speak his mind. On the contrary, Temenos almost found himself feeling flustered by those words instead, having not expected such a reverent comparison. To equate his magic to the Sacred Flame, and he himself to a messenger of the gods... True, he technically was a messenger, having been chosen and all, but still...

A rush of fondness flooded his chest, drawing a smile to his face. Crick really was such an endearing person.

“That is high praise indeed from one as devoted to the church and the gods as you,” he said, his tone light even though the sentiment was sincere. “I’m flattered.”

He both heard and felt the knight take a breath, almost as if he intended to say something more, but in the end no additional words followed, merely a sigh, and Temenos (despite being curious) made the decision to leave him be. He had poked and prodded enough for one day. Besides, they were almost to his room, and he very much needed to save his remaining energy so that he didn’t drift off before then, so that he would have enough to get himself into bed.

Because he was not letting his little lamb help him with that part.

When they reached the door to his room, Crick managed to get it open with little effort, and before the cleric even knew it, he was being set down very carefully on the edge of his bed. With a tiny bit of reluctance, he unwrapped his arms from around the knight’s shoulders and then took a moment to settle himself, quickly deciding on what was and wasn’t necessary in order to have a comfortable rest.

First his shoes, then his cassock. He was pretty sure he could manage that.

“Is there anything else you need?”

He looked up at the somewhat anxious knight, who clearly wasn’t going to leave until he was dismissed, and offered him what was probably a very tired (though hopefully convincing) smile.

“No, I should be alright on my own for now. Again, you have my thanks, Crick. I am quite fortunate to have such a loyal Godsblade at my side.”

The touch of red on the other’s face made that final sentiment worth it, and he watched as the knight bid him a very quick but undeniably polite farewell before leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

In hindsight, asking for help probably would’ve been the smarter option, especially when he almost toppled right onto the floor while attempting to remove his shoes—but in the end, he managed to divest himself of what wouldn’t be comfortable and then proceeded to pull the blankets down on his bed.

Later, once he was rested, he would speak to Osvald about his performance, get his full thoughts on the matter and perhaps discuss some more options for training in the days to come. He also wanted to needle Crick a little more and see if he could potentially coerce him into saying what he had clearly intended to but hadn’t said earlier.

One of those things was obviously more important, and yet for some reason he found himself equally invested in both. A curious thing, that. Then again, he had never really been one to let things go. Not unless it suited him, of course.

And certainly not when it came to the people he cared about. Crick definitely fell into that category, for better or for worse. Sometimes to both of their detriment. Honestly, forming relationships with people really was such a harrowing, tricky thing, though undeniably rewarding. Even though he had often tried to avoid it.

...What was the point he had been trying to make again? Gods, but he really was tired. His mind was starting to wander off without him. It would probably be better to stop thinking.

With a sigh, the inquisitor burrowed under his covers and closed his eyes.

He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

Chapter Text

“Thank you for offering to help with dinner, Crick. You’ve been volunteering a lot lately.”

“Well, I...just thought it would be nice to learn how to make a few more things. Truth be told, I never gave much thought to improving before, in part because I didn’t really have anyone around who could help me, but there is a lot I can learn from you and Agnea, and so I thought I might give it a try.”

From the corner of his eye, he could see Castti smiling.

“You’re more than welcome to help out whenever you want. I’m sure Agnea would say the same. Feel free to ask questions as well if there’s something you’re curious about, although I suppose tonight’s dinner is fairly straightforward.”

“Not at all. I actually had no idea that you could use medicinal herbs in a soup like this.”

“That’s not surprising. I started doing it in order to help my patients recover faster, but it’s also one of the only ways I can get Ochette to eat vegetables without complaining. This’ll be good for Temenos right now too, to help him get his strength back. Hopefully he’ll be able to wake up enough to eat.”

“...Does Temenos like vegetables?”

“He does, for the most part. While he definitely prefers sweets, he’s actually not all that picky when it comes to food. He said it was because he was taught to be grateful for whatever he was given while growing up in the church, but I think it has more to do with the fact that he’s just grateful not to have to cook for himself.”

“He told me that he can’t cook.”

“He can’t.”

No hesitation, just the blatant, unsugar-coated truth. Her response did imply that the inquisitor had at least tried to before, which immediately made him wonder if he was responsible for the whole fire-starting incident that Throné had sort of mentioned, but the odds were that his lack of culinary skills would have come up long before they had acquired their ship. No, that was clearly a separate story, and while he was certainly curious about both, he also didn’t want to pry. Even though it would certainly help to take his mind off of things. There was kind of a lot on it right now.

“Honestly, I know I said that he wasn’t picky, but if left to his own devices, I get the feeling he would try to live off of pastries and fruit for as long as he possibly could. Before this journey is over, I’d really like to teach him how to make at least one thing, but...well, let’s just say that his inability to cook isn’t simply due to laziness.”

“I happen to be a terrible cook.” Those had been the inquisitor’s words. By his own admission, he was rather hopeless at it, and now Castti had pretty much confirmed that it wasn’t so much that he didn’t know how to cook, but that he was actually bad at it.

Now Crick really wanted to ask. He was still going to refrain from doing so, however. Perhaps he would ask about it later. Or perhaps he would see if Temenos himself would be willing to tell the story. Occasionally while working on their reports for the trial together, they would take a break and chat for a bit about things unrelated to their investigation. When dealing with something problematic or strenuous, it was often a good idea to take a moment to clear your head, and while his preferred methods were training and sparring when it came to such things, he had found that just having a mundane conversation could help a lot too.

He was hoping that would be the case now as well. He had already exhausted the sparring option (he could only swing a sword so many times in one day), and so he was currently trying the “keeping busy” one, alongside the talking to somebody one—without actually talking about what was bothering him, however, because that was not an option in the slightest. He would much rather purge those particular thoughts from his mind rather than give voice to them. And so in order to hopefully achieve that, he had volunteered to help with dinner (his motives weren’t entirely ulterior, however—he truly did want to learn whatever he could), because put simply, what Crick had actually needed was a distraction. He had needed a distraction from the direction his thoughts had taken.

But he was starting to realize that busying himself with cutting up herbs and vegetables was only going to get him so far. Unlike sparring, there was nothing really reactive about it, meaning that he would eventually fall into a rhythm, and it would all be downhill from there.

What was he supposed to do? No matter what he tried, he just couldn’t stop thinking about it. About any of it.

Earlier, when Temenos had made that comment about “devotion,” Crick had...he had almost...

He had almost said it. That thing that Throné had so casually thrown out a week ago while the two of them had been making breakfast. He had almost told the inquisitor that his devotion didn’t lie with the church. Or with the gods. Not entirely, anyway.

And if he had, he might’ve then been forced to admit that his “devotion” lay with him. That was...not something he was willing to say aloud. Admitting it to himself was hard enough, especially since he still felt that some of his reasons were too self-serving for that. Thankfully he had stopped himself from saying anything, even though a part of him kept wondering what would’ve happened if he had gone through with it, if the inquisitor would have been surprised at such an admission, if the words would have caught him off guard. It probably wouldn’t have been fair to say something like that to him given the state he had been in, exhausted and unable to walk, incapable of supporting himself at all.

...Even as dead weight, Temenos had been surprisingly light. He hadn’t noticed the last two times he had carried him, but this time, for some reason he—

With a shake of his head, the knight took his paring knife and diced the herbs in front of him a bit more aggressively than was necessary, feeling frustrated with himself, because this, unfortunately, was the other problem he had been having.

Earlier, he should have been focusing only on the situation, on helping the inquisitor—his troublesome, reckless charge—but instead he had kept...he had just kept...noticing things. About Temenos. Completely inconsequential things that had absolutely nothing to do with anything, that he shouldn’t have been noticing in the first place, and yet...

And yet he had noticed them anyway.

Like how slender his waist was when he’d had his arm wrapped around it, or how soft his hair had felt as it brushed against his neck. The arms looped around his shoulders had been somewhat distracting as well, because he couldn’t really remember the last time that someone had held onto him like that. A rather depressing thought, really. It hadn’t been an actual embrace, simply one born out of necessity, but still, he...

...Gods, this wasn’t working, was it? No matter what he tried, he couldn’t seem to distract himself from those thoughts. A part of him wanted to give up entirely, drop his head into his hands and sigh, but that would only alert Castti to the fact that something was wrong, and she would probably try to coax him into talking about it.

He did not want to talk about it. Because he knew he was being ridiculous about this. They were only passing thoughts after all, just simple observations and nothing more. They had truly only flitted across his mind for a moment at most, too focused on taking care of Temenos at the time—and sure, he could try to blame it on the situation if he wanted, on the fact that he had only just managed to reach the cleric before that vortex of water did, but he knew that fear and adrenaline could only account for so much when it came to his scattered thoughts and their apparent fixation on pointless things.

Clearly there was something wrong with him, but attempting to distract himself from the problem hadn’t been working—if anything, it was probably just making the whole thing worse—and so rather than trying to ignore his thoughts, perhaps it would be better to reconcile them instead.

Unfortunately, he didn’t know where to start. Those kinds of thoughts, they...well, they weren’t very becoming of a knight. Temenos was his charge, and whether that arrangement was self-appointed or not didn’t matter. He was also the Sacred Flame’s holy inquisitor and a cleric chosen by Lord Aelfric himself. He was special, and Crick was unbelievably fortunate to have him in his life.

He was intelligent and determined, not to mention kind and dedicated and unfailingly loyal to who and what he cared about, and...

...And he was beautiful. Temenos was ethereally and undeniably beautiful. Especially when set aglow with hallowed light.

Surely...it was alright to think that. Surely there was nothing wrong with acknowledging what was merely a fact. Some of the other knights in the Sacred Guard had commented on the inquisitor’s looks before too (even if many of their other comments had been less than kind), so it wasn’t like he was the only one or anything. Honestly, it would probably make things easier on him if he just accepted it rather than constantly trying to quash those thoughts every time they cropped up. The question was whether or not he could do so without feeling awkward about it or becoming flustered.

...Possibly. He might be able to manage that. If he truly did view those kinds of thoughts as mere observations, then there would be nothing to worry about. They didn’t have to mean anything if he didn’t want them to.

Yes, this could work. He could probably accept that. After all, he had been able to own up to his actions that night he had entered Temenos’s room without permission, and so he should be able to own up to this as well. It was perfectly normal to notice things about a person that he spent a lot of time with.

(And if he just kept telling himself that, then perhaps one day he might actually believe it).

With his head (kind of) sorted, at least for the time being, anyway, Crick turned his full attention back to his task. Just in time for Castti to decide to start a new conversation with him.

“By the way, Crick,” she began, and in a tone that he had learned to be a little wary of over the past several weeks, “I couldn’t help but notice that you weren’t below deck with us earlier.”

He shifted his weight a bit, unsure of exactly why she was bringing this up but feeling nervous about it nonetheless. She was quite good at that.

“I wasn’t,” he acknowledged, keeping his answer short lest he start rambling off an explanation.

“Strange... I thought for sure you would want to watch.”

“I did watch. From above deck.”

The apothecary turned to him, and that was definitely a disapproving look on her face, so he quickly added, “F-From the cabin behind the helm. Temenos wouldn’t let me remain on the deck.”

Castti breathed a somewhat exasperated sounding sigh and said, “I understand that you worry about him sometimes, but that’s no reason to put yourself needlessly at risk.”

“I wasn’t at risk,” he replied. “Not really. The cabin was perfectly safe. And besides, I... Well, I am still a knight, even though I’ve left the Sacred Guard. Putting myself at risk kind of comes with the job. Is the same not true for you, as an apothecary?”

It was a bit of a risk to point that out, to draw a similarity between their professions, because he knew that Castti held herself to a fairly high standard when it came to her profession. While she did tend to take care of herself as well (setting an example was important, after all), she was definitely the type to pour everything she had into another’s wellbeing, no matter how taxing it might be for her. She would do everything in her power to save lives, regardless of the cost to herself. To her, that was what it meant to be an apothecary. Those in her care would always take priority.

Not that dissimilar to a knight at all, really.

He watched as that long-suffering look left her face, as amusement glinted in her eyes while a small smile pulled at the corner of her lips. It was a touch wry, that grin.

“I suppose you have a point,” she admitted. “While our methods may be different, the overall goal is the same. I guess it would be unfair to chastise you for something that I might have done myself had I thought of it.”

“No, I...truth be told, I wish I could be less anxious about it. You all have so much faith in each other, and I’m...not quite there yet. I know that I have to let some things go, that I need to trust him—and I do, but at the same time, I just...want to be close by, I guess. I don’t think I could bear it if something were to happen because I wasn’t there.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s perfectly normal to feel that way. When someone you care about is put in danger, voluntarily or otherwise, I think it’s impossible not to worry at least a little bit, no matter how much you might believe in them. So don’t fret about it too much, alright? There’s no shame in being concerned for someone’s safety, so long as you aren’t overbearing about it. I...may struggle with that part myself sometimes, if I’m being honest.”

He smiled a bit at that, remembering the times she had lectured Temenos over the past few weeks, as well as how she’d had no qualms scolding some of the knights in the Nameless Village when they had tried to act as if they weren’t as wounded as they obviously were. She had also fussed over him quite a bit after Stormhail, ensuring that he didn’t push himself too hard too quickly. Frustrating though it might have been to be limited in what he could do, he was grateful for her care. He was certain that everyone else probably felt that way too.

“Though some of them may complain,” he began, “I am certain they appreciate your concern. I have even heard Ochette refer to you as if you were her mother.”

A breath of soft laughter escaped Castti as she added a few things to the pot sitting on the stove before returning to her own space at the counter.

“I suppose I do come off that way at times. I used to get teased for it quite often by my friends in Eir’s Apothecaries.”

Crick hesitated, just for a moment, before asking, “Would you tell me about them?”

This was something of a risk too; he knew that. So far, he had refrained from asking any sensitive questions unless given permission, like that time with Throné. Some of their pasts were painful things, and Castti had only recently regained her memories, just prior to their arrival in Stormhail. A lot of it was probably still quite raw, still too close to the surface, especially with her goal not yet fulfilled. But he did want to know, as much as he possibly could. He wanted to get to know all of them better, and the only way that was going to happen was if he actually put in the effort to make it. This couldn’t be a one-sided thing. He wasn’t really in the habit of waiting around anyway, for better or worse. Definitely worse in some cases, but still...

Castti looked over at him, and the smile that spread across her face was a warm, kind thing that immediately put him at ease. She looked genuinely touched by his desire to learn about the people who had clearly meant so much to her.

Sometimes it paid to take a chance.

“I would be happy to.”

And so he got to hear all about the people that Castti had met and befriended on her quest to form Eir’s Apothecaries. There was the brash yet bighearted Andy, the more mild-mannered and dependable Randy, the calming presence among their group that was Elma, and then Malaya, who had started out as a rival (albeit one-sided) but had ended up becoming Castti’s closest friend. They had all worked together to save lives, to create medicines, traveling across the realm but always returning to Healeaks, the place they had more or less called home. She told him about some of the more ridiculous things they had gotten involved in, amusing anecdotes from their journeys, from days spent experimenting with concoctions that had resulted in some...interesting tonics to say the least. He found himself laughing a few times, with Castti smiling as well, and it was nice to see that happy, nostalgic look on her face, nice to know that she could find joy in the memories she had gotten back rather than dwelling only on how poorly everything had ended.

Sometimes it could be hard to look back fondly on the past when tragedy was still so fresh, because even though she was clearly proud of them all, even though she would probably give her life just the same in order to protect others, that didn’t mean the memory of it didn’t hurt, that she didn’t miss them, that the loss wouldn’t sit with her for a long time to come. But remembering all of the good things helped, those bright memories of days spent helping others, solving problems together, striving to aid people in whatever ways they could. Using their gifts to better the world.

What an incredible group of people they had been.

As the two of them continued to chat while making dinner, adding more and more things to the pot sitting on the stove, Crick eventually caught the sound of footsteps approaching the kitchen. That wasn’t too surprising; it was fairly common for several of them to pop by just to see what was for dinner. However, the voice that suddenly came from behind them was quite possibly the last one he had been expecting to hear.

“Ah, I see we’re having soup tonight. It smells quite heavenly.”

Crick immediately whirled around, as did Castti, their eyes widening in surprise. In the doorway stood none other than Temenos, looking remarkably better than he had six hours ago, dressed from head to toe in his usual garb. In all honesty, they had been expecting him to remain asleep for the rest of the day, with someone having to wake him later so that he could eat something before properly turning in for the night, but clearly that wasn’t going to be necessary. He looked perfectly fine, all things considered. A rather heartening sight.

“Temenos, I wasn’t expecting you to be up yet,” said Castti, though her shock quickly gave way to those ingrained habits of an apothecary as she asked him, “How do you feel?”

“Quite well, actually,” he replied as he made his way into the room. “It would seem that I truly am beginning to adapt to this, expending all of my spirit at once. While the sleep I got was not enough to gain all of it back by any means, I would consider the fact that I am not tired at the moment to be a significant improvement. Perhaps one day I shall even be able to cast it without any trouble at all. Osvald seems to believe that such a thing is possible, and I should very much like to trust his opinion on the matter.”

“Be that as it may, I still wish you would be more careful about this.”

“Need I remind you, my dear apothecary, that today was in no way my fault? Being sent to face the Scourge of the Sea alone certainly wasn’t my idea. I would have been perfectly happy just running away from it as usual.”

Castti breathed a sigh but in the end chose not to say anything to that. Probably because Temenos technically wasn’t wrong. That being said, the inquisitor could have said no to the plan but had chosen not to, though part of the reason was likely due to how optimistic some of the travelers had been about letting him handle it. And Osvald’s reasoning about not having a better opportunity to test out the second tier of his spell had probably played a role in his decision as well. Reluctantly or not, he did ultimately agree to do it, which meant that a small part of him had wanted to despite the danger, because the bottom line was that no one could truly make Temenos do something he didn’t want to. He wasn’t exactly the type to give in to peer pressure.

Though he did occasionally give in to pleading. Throné had called him a pushover back in Beasting Village. He definitely wasn’t as immune to being swayed as Crick had originally thought.

He had certainly learned quite a lot about Temenos over the past few weeks.

Those green eyes turned to him, alight with amusement as his mouth curved into a grin.

“I see that you are once again in the kitchen, little lamb. Are you perhaps looking to improve upon your culinary skills?”

“Something like that,” he replied, because he was absolutely not telling the cleric that he had volunteered to help in an attempt to distract himself from thoughts that were somewhat...inappropriate for a knight. Thoughts about him. “I had never given much thought to it before, but there is still a lot I don’t know when it comes to cooking, plus helping out from time to time is the least I can do. Castti and Agnea shouldn’t have to handle all of the meals themselves.”

“Partitio helps out occasionally, as does Throné. Hikari can make a few simple things as well, while Ochette’s specialty is obviously jerky. I suppose it is true though that Castti and Agnea make the majority of our meals. We would certainly be quite lost without the two of them to take care of us.”

“Is that an attempt at flattery, Temenos?” asked the apothecary with a wry grin, her blue eyes sparkling with a touch of mischief.

“Not at all,” he replied. “I speak only the truth.”

“Of course you do.”

“Now that’s a bit cold of you. Are you saying you doubt my intentions?”

“I would be a fool not to.”

“Heh, fair enough. Though the compliment was sincere, I’ll have you know. I am indeed quite grateful.”

“I know you are. I would ask you to show it by listening to my medical advice, but I also know you’re too stubborn to agree to that.”

The inquisitor only smiled, looking terribly amused, and Crick found himself thinking once again that these two healers were very close. The banter, the teasing, just saying whatever they wanted and knowing it would be taken the way it was intended; there was something incredibly freeing and comfortable about that sort of relationship. He still found himself watching his words sometimes, choosing them carefully, afraid of saying the wrong thing or stepping beyond the lines that he had drawn for himself, even though he knew that Temenos was not the type to hold something against him, that he wouldn’t judge a mere slip of the tongue. He didn’t care about their stations or propriety or what was expected—that just wasn’t the kind of person he was. And Crick was grateful for that. He had learned how to be grateful for that. He would never take it for granted again.

The things that occasionally irritated him about the cleric didn’t matter. Temenos was perfect just the way he—

“So, you’re awake.”

The inquisitor turned to look at the doorway, watching as Osvald walked into the room, and Crick was immensely relieved for the sudden distraction, relieved that the scholar had drawn Temenos’s full attention, because the knight could feel his face heating up at the thought that had almost crossed it, forming with barely any conscious effort on his part at all. He quickly turned back to the task he had temporarily abandoned, cutting up a few carrots to give a bit more variety to the soup according to Castti, so that all of the vegetables in it weren’t just green or medicinal. He needed to focus on what he was supposed to be doing, not on the man behind him, and yet it was impossible to drown out his voice as he began speaking to his scholarly cohort in the realm of magical experimentation.

“Ah, Osvald! Just the man I was looking for before I got distracted by the kitchen. Since I have found myself awake well before anyone expected, I thought it might be nice to have our conversation about what happened now, rather than waiting until tomorrow.”

“Agreed. I was able to make quite a few observations while witnessing you cast up close. I believe we should start documenting the process, given the complete lack of any actual documentation about it. Even if being blessed by Aelfric ends up being a requirement to be able to use the spell successfully, that’s no reason not to preserve the information for future generations.”

“A sound suggestion,” the inquisitor agreed, and from the corner of his eye, Crick could see the scholar already taking a seat at the table, pulling out a journal and pen from his jacket. Clearly the man intended to get started with his idea now, which Temenos was quick to realize as well.

The cleric looked to him and Castti before asking, “Would the two of you mind at all if we have our conversation here? I do not wish to bother you if such a thing would prove to be disruptive.”

“Not at all,” said the apothecary. “Go right ahead. We’re almost done with the preparations anyway.”

“Many thanks.”

And so the inquisitor took a seat at the table and immediately began discussing magic with Osvald. It honestly had to be the most animated he had ever seen the scholar, which wasn’t really all that surprising given what he had learned about the man. He wasn’t one for small talk; he preferred conversations that were productive, that led to the solving of problems, and nothing intrigued him in quite the same way as magic did. It was certainly interesting to listen to the two of them even if he didn’t fully understand all of what was being said. Applying mathematical formulas to spells was very much beyond him, seeing as how math had never been one of his favorite subjects while growing up, but hearing the two of them speak about it was rather enjoyable nonetheless.

“I apologize for not warning you about how bright the spell was,” the cleric said, “although Crick told me that it was only too bright to look at for the first few seconds.”

“Indeed. Originally, I had thought that Heavenly Shine formed as a solid dome of pure light, but it turns out that wasn’t the case. The dome is actually hollow within, which is why that Sacred Shield you cast on me was able to work. I suspect that the reason it’s too bright for you is because your body remains enveloped in magic while casting. I’m actually surprised you were able to control the size of it so well without being able to see.”

“I can sort of just...feel it, I suppose, if that makes any sense? I find it rather difficult to explain...”

“Could you at least try to?”

“Of course.”

The knight couldn’t help but steal another glance at the two of them, having immediately perked up upon hearing his name. Temenos had asked him for his opinion earlier, and while a part of him wished that he could have offered more in that regard, something that might’ve proven useful to him, he still stood by what he had said (no matter how embarrassing it was in hindsight).

That moment had been...like something from a dream. Their ship had been surrounded by light, so bright that it was impossible to see anything beyond it, as if for a moment they had existed within a small bubble, a place separated from the rest of the world. And at its center had been Temenos, set aglow with heavenly light. Standing there with his head tipped back, his arms down and open at his sides as the magic flowed from him, perfectly still and serene despite the power on display.

It really had been incredible, an image that would be forever burned in his mind. He never wanted to forget it, that moment of complete and total awe, the reverent feeling that had washed over him in that single, breathtaking instant.

There was nothing wrong with appreciating something that was unequivocally beautiful, right?

Right?

He stole another glance at Temenos.

There was a smile on the inquisitor’s face as he spoke to Osvald, his green eyes bright and shining. For a man so talented at feigning indifference, at schooling his expression into a perfect, placid mask, he was surprisingly expressive when it came to speaking with his companions, when there weren’t people around to judge him for his behavior. He would motion with his hands, tip his head to the side in confusion or curiosity, and even lean forward when something intrigued him, the look on his face changing with each mood. Crick had gotten to see a bit of that himself during their conversations in the study, those small breaks from working, but now it was on full display as Temenos discussed magic with Osvald, and the whole thing was just...obnoxiously endearing—obnoxious because he couldn’t for the life of him understand why it should feel that way, why it was endearing.

It didn’t make any sense. He had resolved himself to reconcile this, but...

A peel of laughter came from the table, drawing a smile to his face even as something anxious seemed to flitter in his chest.

He clearly had a long way to go yet.

Roque Island was a rather...interesting place to say the least. An entire island dedicated to the production of technology, where people lived right alongside the factory in which they worked. Productivity wise, something like that was ingenious, but Temenos did wonder how the people involved actually felt about it all, if such a thing was taxing on them, if it resulted in working longer hours than they should, sacrificing their free time to Roque and his pursuits.

Perhaps there would be time to ask around a bit, to get a few opinions on the matter and learn how the people living there felt. The idea of a factory island was at the very least intriguing if nothing else.

“Wow, would ya take a look at this place?” said Partitio as they stood on the walkway surrounding the small town (if you could really call it a town), his eyes sparkling with awe. “Only Mister Roque could come up with an idea like this. He really is somethin’, ain’t he.”

“Are you seriously complimenting him even after what he did?” asked Throné, her arms crossed over her chest, one brow delicately raised. Her skepticism was almost palpable.

“Well, sure, why not?” the merchant replied, still grinning. “I mean, what he’s done here is pretty impressive, right? It’s like he’s always thinkin’ ten steps ahead. I can’t help but admire him for it. Sure, we may not see eye to eye right now, but I’ll get him to see things my way eventually. He taught me a whole lot about bein' a merchant, so now it’s my turn to teach him somethin’ instead. Technology is meant to be shared with the world ‘n’ used to help those in troubled times. Mark my words, I’ll get the rights to that steam engine, an’ then I’ll use it to make the whole world a better place. You can count on it.”

Temenos couldn’t help but smile at that. Out of all of them, their adamant merchant by far had the most confidence in himself, always believing that he could accomplish whatever he set his mind to. He approached everything with a positive attitude, an open heart, and the firm belief that he was morally in the right. A bit dangerous that last one, but in the cases where he was actually wrong about something, he’d always admit to it, and so that foolhardy attitude of his could be forgiven in most cases. When it wasn’t getting him into trouble, of course. Learning to have a bit more caution certainly wouldn’t hurt, even though it probably wouldn’t happen.

Honestly, forgiving and then offering to hire a man who had tried to kill him... Generous to a fault he was (and truth be told, they all rather loved that about him).

“Come on,” said Partitio as he motioned for all of them to follow him, “let’s head on into town. May as well look around while we wait for the big announcement ceremony.”

A sound idea, one they were all quick to go along with. After all, he had just been thinking that he wouldn’t mind investigating a bit, purely to satisfy his own curiosity. Just to see what kind of place Roque Island really was.

However, after spending about an hour or so exploring the town and talking to many of the factory employees, the information he had managed to find was rather...strange to say the least. In all honesty he wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it, which seemed to be the general consensus, and he could tell that both the knight and the thief at his side were feeling a bit...unnerved, perhaps, at what they had learned.

Every employee wore a metal tag of some sort, some hanging from a chain, others pinned to their shirts. However, instead of their names, only a number was engraved in the metal. Every employee was known by a number. That was...extremely impersonal, and it sort of implied that Roque had no desire to actually know the people who worked under him, as if he didn’t really see them as “people” at all. Quite a few of them looked tired while others actually seemed to enjoy the busy, work-oriented lifestyle, and then there were actually a few visitors who were simply there to see the island for themselves, to marvel at the factory and what Roque Brilliante had achieved.

The whole place was rather impressive, he wasn’t going to lie, but at the same time Temenos couldn’t really bring himself to like it. Perhaps a part of that was because of how busy it felt, despite the town being incredibly small. He much preferred places that were more relaxed in their feel. And the other part was definitely the exhaustion on so many people’s faces, the testimony of the few children he had spoken to who claimed to only see their parents a few hours out of the day.

Who was looking after them? Who was raising them? Did Roque care at all about families? Clearly some people were being overworked, but was that by choice or by mandate? Could employees only leave for the day once their work was done, regardless of the hour?

He was trying to be open-minded about this, to not have an opinion, but the more he learned, the more it bothered him, and the more he hoped that Partitio was right in his belief that everything would change once he purchased the rights to the steam engine. Things very much needed to change.

“How can he get away with treating people like this?” Crick asked as the three of them were standing outside the tavern, waiting for the rest of their party to join them.

“Because he is currently one of the wealthiest men in the world,” Temenos replied. “And wealth has a tendency to breed power, greed, and egotism, unfortunately. That is simply the way of things.”

“It probably doesn’t help that he’s a shrewd businessman,” Throné added. “He knows what he wants and goes after it, even if he has to use underhanded means to get there. And because all of these people want to be a part of something that has the potential to shape history, they simply go along with it. None of them see any point in trying to change it, since it might cost them their jobs. There are a lot of places like that, though certainly not quite to this extent. It kind of makes me hate the man in charge, but don’t tell Partitio I said that.”

“Fear not, your secret is safe with us, although I can’t imagine our dear merchant is too pleased with this whole situation either. Still, he is nothing if not determined and optimistic. Perhaps that sunny disposition of his can melt even his mentor’s icy heart.”

“Here’s hoping.”

Eventually the nine of them reunited, and with just a couple hours to go before the ceremony, they grabbed something to eat from the tavern, shared a few of their observations of the town, and then made their way towards the gates of Roque’s factory.

Probably two thirds of the people standing in line, being ushered slowly forward by the guards, were scriveners. Temenos was not particularly fond of scriveners. They were nosy people who needed to learn how to mind their own business and not succumb to idle gossip, searching for tawdry rumors where there were none. He had definitely chased off more than his fair share upon his appointment to inquisitor, and he would likely have to chase off many more once he brought down the Sacred Guard.

Perhaps he could just...hire someone to do it for him, so that he didn’t have to bother with it himself. Maybe Crick would even be willing to do it for him—that could certainly be entertaining. Since his Godsblade seemed to think that “looking after him” was a part of his knightly duties, then surely something like chasing off annoying busybodies qualified as well. It could work.

He would cross that bridge once he got there though.

“Oh, I like the feel of this!” said Partitio, still grinning from ear to ear, filled with that boundless energy of his. “Tension’s buildin’ ‘n’ energy’s cracklin’ through the air. Guess this is where we enter the announcement celebration.”

“Do you really think they’ll let us all in?” asked Agnea, watching the two guards ahead of them worriedly. “We are kind of a large group, and we don’t really look like the rest of these people.”

“The only thing we can do is try,” said Castti. “If we can’t all go in, then some of us might just have to wait outside is all. A disappointment to be sure, but it’s not like we were invited here.”

That last bit, as it turned out, proved to be a problem, because as soon as Partitio reached the two guards stationed at the entrance, he was immediately asked for papers.

Partitio did not have any papers.

“No papers, no entry, no exceptions. Out with you.”

He was then shoved rather rudely aside by two wealthy-looking businesspeople who did have papers.

“How rude!” huffed Agnea. “They didn’t have to be so mean about it.”

“What now?” asked Hikari. “It appears we can’t enter without an invitation.”

“We could always ‘acquire’ some,” Osvald offered, and he could see Throné nodding along with that suggestion as well, but Castti was quick to put an end to it.

“No stealing, you two,” she scolded. “Partitio is here to make a business deal. We shouldn’t do anything that could hurt his chances.”

“Yeah, but those guys won’t let us in,” said Ochette as she peered through the iron bars surrounding the factory. “I can’t see anything from here. How’s Parti supposed to beat some sense into his teacher if we’re all stuck outside?”

“Hey now, I don’t plan on beatin’ anybody,” the merchant was quick to correct. “I’m just here to talk to Mister Roque and make a business transaction, nothin’ more.”

They all looked up at the imposing metal fence before them.

“Though I do need to get inside... Do you reckon there’s some sort of secret entrance or somethin’?”

“I doubt there is anything so convenient,” Temenos replied, only to find himself eating those words a moment later.

Temenos did not like scriveners, as previously established. They were a complete and utter hindrance who thrived off of others' deeds and misfortune.

But he might be willing to make an exception for Ori.

“Well, what do we have here? If it isn’t Partitio! I’m glad to see that you made it safe and sound!”

“Ori! What impeccable timin'!”

“Eh? Why’s that? Have some sort of sensational story to spill?”

“Naw, I don’t got no stories, nor a pass to get into this shindig either.”

“Ah, you’re looking for a pass, huh? Truth is, I couldn’t get one either.”

“Is that so? Aww, shucks...”

Clearly he had been hoping for her to somehow have papers, just like the rest of the scriveners who had been standing in line, and she was quick to realize that.

“B-but have no fear! I know of a hidden back route that’ll get us into the event for sure!”

“Really!?”

...Well, apparently he had been wrong. Sometimes things really could be that convenient. Never underestimate the power of a determined scrivener who would do just about anything for a headlining scoop.

Unfortunately, as much as they all would’ve liked to sneak into Roque’s factory and thus the announcement ceremony, a group of ten did not make for a stealthy infiltration party. And so the question then became which of them would be staying behind and which would be going with Partitio. For the most part, Temenos allowed the others to discuss it, as he was fine either way. Did he want to see the ruthless business tycoon be humbled by his former apprentice? Yes. But could he live without bearing witness to it? Also yes.

In the end, it was decided that Throné and Castti would accompany Partitio, because Throné was still holding on to that promissory note, and Castti refused to let him go off without either herself or Temenos present in case something happened.

“Nothin’s gonna happen,” he had insisted. “Like I said, this is just a business transaction between two merchants. Mister Roque ain’t the type to get into a scuffle.”

“Be that as it may, I’m still going with you. You have a habit of finding trouble. Someone needs to be there to patch you up.”

There really was no arguing with that, given how true it was. Partitio did have a habit of getting banged up due to that righteous attitude of his. Best to have a healer on hand in case he needed it.

With that decided, the rest of them promised to remain near the front gates, well within Ochette’s hearing range, just in case things took a turn for the worse. That way, the six of them could easily push past the guards and rush in should their aid be required.

“Seriously, this is just a business transaction. You don’t gotta worry 'bout me, I can handle this.”

“We know you can,” the inquisitor replied, choosing to placate rather than antagonize (for the most part). “If there is anyone with enough presumptuous tenacity to pull this off, it is most certainly you, Partitio.”

“...You healers ‘n’ your thorny compliments. Still, thanks for the vote of confidence. I’ll definitely be back with those rights in hand. Just hang tight until then, alright?”

As if they could do anything else.

Once the merchant, thief, and apothecary were out of sight, the rest of them found a place to stand that hopefully wouldn’t earn them too much suspicion from the guards and then resolved themselves to waiting. Hopefully Ori would guide their friends well on their quest to sneak into the ceremony.

“Temenos.”

He looked up at Crick from where he was sitting on the brick foundation around the gate. The knight was leaning against the metal fencing, his arms crossed over his chest, looking curious and pensive as he watched their companions disappear down the street.

“Who exactly is that scrivener?” he asked. “I almost feel as though I’ve seen her before...”

The inquisitor couldn’t help but smile at that.

“I had a similar feeling upon meeting her,” he replied. “I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if you had seen her before, seeing as how she is a scrivener for the New Delsta Times, and quite a popular one as well. She has been publishing Partitio’s entire journey in the paper, ever since the two of them met in Clockbank. She is quite passionate about spreading good news whenever possible and has been supporting our dear merchant every step of the way. For example, it was she who suggested that he seek out Alrond as a financier when Roque put the price tag of eighty billion leaves upon the steam engine. He likely would never have thought to look for such a wealthy investor otherwise.”

“Oh.” His brow un-furrowed as he processed the words, looking just a little surprised. Temenos wondered if he had also had some poor encounters with scriveners, whose interests were often self-serving. That would definitely explain his shock over the idea that one had actually been of great help to Partitio on his journey.

“She is certainly an odd one,” he continued, “but also a good sort, I believe. She will ensure that Partitio makes it into the ceremony unscathed.”

“...I hope it all goes well.”

“As do I.” That was all they could do, really.

Eventually, the crowd of people around them began to thin out as those with passes were allowed in and those without were sent away. The two security guards did give their group a few odd looks, clearly suspicious of them (they did sort of stand out, after all), but seeing as how they weren’t causing a disturbance, they pretty much just let them be. Ochette was kind of pushing her luck though as she pressed her face against the bars, almost as if she believed she could somehow squeeze through them if she just wished for it hard enough. While she did have a considerable amount of patience, being a hunter and all, she wasn’t the biggest fan of just standing around idle. It was obvious that she had wanted to go with Partitio too, but in a place like this, she easily stood out the most. A small infiltration group was best.

Throné would make sure they didn’t get lost in the factory. While her senses weren’t as sharp as Ochette’s, they would be more than enough to see them through.

...Time always seemed to tick by so very slowly when it came to waiting for something, especially when there wasn’t much to do in the interim. Perhaps it would be a good idea to start carrying a deck of cards with them from now on to help stave off the boredom. Agnea had taken to dancing to pass the time, with Ochette joining her not long after, while the rest of them simply stood or sat around, waiting for something to change. A few discussions were had in that time, just simple things like observations about the island, about the people, as well as the possible applications of a steam engine when it came to furthering technological and magical pursuits (that last one wasn’t “simple,” but it had certainly been an interesting discussion, one that Osvald had participated in considerably. The easiest way to get their taciturn scholar to speak was to bring up something fruitful to talk about).

Temenos was starting to wonder just what time it was, how much had passed since the others had left, but unfortunately there was no clock by the gates (that was a clear oversight on somebody’s part). At least an hour must have gone by, surely. He wondered just how long a simple “business transaction” was meant to take, but depending on how big of a pain Roque chose to be about it, the whole thing could easily end up getting drawn out. Their luck wasn’t particularly great when it came to things being quick and easy; rarely did anything end up going exactly the way they had planned. Even Agnea’s rise to stardom had ended up having a few bumps right at the end.

Apparently she had almost been kidnapped on her way to the altar. More than once. None of them had been best pleased when she had told them that.

Nothing could ever just go off without a hitch for them, could it?

As if on cue (because that was just how these things worked, wasn’t it?), the ground beneath their feet began to rumble, and then quite suddenly, something behind them, far beyond the gate, definitely exploded.

All of them were on their feet in an instant. The two guards who had been vigilantly watching the crowd, ensuring that no one tried to sneak in without a pass, were now just standing there, looking shocked and terrified at what they had heard. And so it was really no trouble at all to rush past them, with Agnea throwing out a quick apology over her shoulder as one of them weakly called out for the six of them to stop (always a considerate soul, that one).

What they found upon arriving at the factory’s square where the announcement ceremony was being held was a rather... Well, truth be told, he didn’t really know how to describe the sight. On one side of the area was an entire horde or fearful scriveners and entrepreneurs, as well as Alrond Rondwell, his butler Misha, and several bags overflowing with leaves that had been offloaded from what had to be Alrond’s private ship.

Did he actually put eighty billion leaves onto a ship and sail all the way to Roque’s island?

And that, quite honestly, wasn’t even the most shocking part.

On the other end of the square were Partitio, Throné, and Castti, facing down a very large and never-before-seen mechanical weapon of some sort, the one that had clearly caused that explosion, being driven by none other than Roque Brilliante himself.

The machine was certainly a surprise—not even he could have predicted something like that—but he found that the situation itself was not. A part of him had just kind of been waiting for things to go wrong, because nothing was ever easy, not even a formal contract between merchants, apparently.

“Wh-what is that thing?” asked Agnea, staring up at it with wide eyes. “I’ve never seen anthin’ like it before!”

“It’s a steam tank,” answered Throné. “That’s what Roque called it. A new kind of weapon, one capable of blowing a whole through a wall.”

Something halfway between irritation and amusement washed over the inquisitor as he looked at the metal monstrosity before them and then turned his gaze towards Partitio.

“Just a ‘business transaction,’ was it?” He could not have kept the sarcasm out of his voice if he’d tried.

“Yeah, okay, you can rib me all you want later, Temenos, but for right now, can we all just focus on the thing in front o’ us? Takin’ it down won’t be easy, but we’ve got to so that I can convince Mister Roque that he’s wrong about all o’ this.”

Throné, looking none too happy, asked bluntly, “So you want us to leave that jerk alive?”

“Yes I want him alive!”

A sigh, put-upon and resigned.

“Then I guess we’ve got our work cut out for us.”

She certainly wasn’t wrong about that. Fighting against a machine, especially one capable of launching projectiles, was not an easy feat. They had only really fought against people and monsters before (with maybe a couple exceptions, like when Thurston had dragged an entire steam engine with him into Alrond’s estate). How were they meant to take it down without hurting the man inside it?

Apparently, the answer to that question was by shooting three arrows directly into the mouth of the cannon, thus causing it to explode; jamming two spears into the spinning wheels on the side to break them (they were going to have to replace those spears, so hopefully they had some decent spares in the armory); and then bombarding the rest of it with magic.

Oh, and pulling Roque through the window of his steam tank before the engine exploded. Mahina, Ochette, and Partitio had taken care of that. Temenos wondered if the man was grateful for that act or not as he knelt amidst the fire and battered metal, looking up at what remained of his creation, something that had likely taken a great deal of time and money to create. Roque was nothing if not innovative, he would grant him that, because it was true that without him the steam engine would not have progressed as rapidly as it did. He truly had an eye for opportunities and business. A shame that it had been twisted into pure and simple greed, that he had stopped being able to see beyond himself and look at the big picture, at all the good he could potentially do.

Some people couldn’t come back from that. However, some were capable of turning things around and finding a new path. He wondered which one Roque would be.

In hindsight, he should’ve known the answer. Because there was no way Partitio would ever allow someone to remain lost. The merchant approached his former mentor without hesitation, and in hushed tones, the two of them began to speak. At first, he could only catch a few words, not bothering to put any real effort into listening, because he knew that whatever they were saying, it was meant only for them. Eventually, however, Partitio asked a simple question, one that should have had a simple answer.

“What’d you want so bad that you’d do such vile things to get it?”

Unfortunately, time and greed had a habit of muddying many things.

“I don’t even remember anymore. Besides, that’s all in the past now. My time has come and gone. The future belongs to you now, Partitio. Share your values of sharing value with all. Lead the merchants of this world down a new path.”

The man tipped his head back and looked at the broken machine before him, the wall that he had reduced to rubble, and the burning scraps all around.

“This place is about to collapse,” he said, his voice rough with what might have been regret. Perhaps even remorse. Or maybe it was just self-pity. “Go, Partitio. Leave me. I wish to remain and...watch it all crumble away.”

Their dear merchant pulled his hat down a bit, hiding his face as he said, “I see,” but there was nothing resigned in his tone, nothing to indicate he had any intention of doing as Roque said. After all, he had yet to say his piece.

And say it he would. In the most Partitio way possible.

“I think you’re misunderstandin’ me again, Mister Roque.”

The business tycoon turned away from the wreckage, still looking maudlin but also a little confused.

“...Huh?”

“You’re talkin’ big ‘bout me leadin’ people and sharin’ values and whatnot. But that’s not how this story goes. Every merchant’s got their own ideals and walks their own roads. ‘Course, not everythin’s all rainbows and roses. Sometimes people stumble. My goal’s only to help ‘em get back up when they fall.”

And then, without missing a beat, he looked up at the burning mass of broken metal in front of them with a steadily growing smile and said, “By the by, Mister Roque... Seein’ this contraption of yours gave me an idea. So, after you rest for a spell, how ‘bout joinin’ me on a brand-new business venture? What do you say?”

The look that fell upon Roque’s face in that moment was priceless. His eyes were wide—not quite with shock but definitely with surprise—as he stared at his former apprentice (and possibly soon to be colleague as well). Gone was that cold air of superiority that had clung to him previously, along with the hopelessness that had settled around him after they had destroyed his tank, and instead what seemed to wash over him was a touch of awe, a touch of amusement, something wry as he slowly shook his head in disbelief.

“Unbelievable,” he said softly as he pulled his hat down, lowering his head to hide the beginnings of a smile. “You never change, do you?”

Eventually, when he finally found it in himself to raise his head again and meet Partitio’s bright, beaming grin head on, something in him almost seemed to thaw. Understandable. After all, how could even the coldest of hearts hope to withstand that burning charisma, that gaze that was permanently fixed on a prosperous, shining future? Optimism could be a powerful thing, especially when backed by pure, solid belief.

Partitio was incredible not because he simply believed that everything would work out if he just wanted it badly enough but because he was willing to put in the hard work to make his dreams happen, no matter how much or how long it took. The term “give up” just wasn’t in his vocabulary.

With his own two hands, he would change the world.

“I’ve never met another merchant like you, Partitio. Even after all these years.”

“...Is that a yes, then?”

“Heh. Perhaps it will be, once I’ve rested. At the very least, you’ve piqued my curiosity.”

“Great! Then how ‘bout we meet up tomorrow and discuss it?”

“Tomorrow? I see that alacrity of yours hasn’t changed either... Very well then. Tomorrow.”

“It’s a deal!”

Temenos wondered just what kind of idea their clever merchant had been struck with, but he was certain they would all find out soon enough. Partitio was not one to hold his tongue, especially when he was excited about something, and that glint in his eyes was definitely excitement. That being said, he was sure to have his hands full for the rest of the afternoon and possibly evening, dealing with all of the scriveners who were already beginning to overcome their shock, pulling out their notebooks and pens, writing about what happened. There was also the matter of the eighty billion leaves that Alrond had sailed across the ocean with, which would need to be offloaded and stored within whatever vault that Roque surely kept his fortune in upon the island.

Partitio’s “just a business transaction” had left quite the mess to clean up, and they were not the types to leave a job half finished unless time constraints demanded it. While the trek to Timberain was going to be a long one, they still had plenty of time before the coronation. There was no need to rush. Best to let the two merchants hash out the details of their next venture before shipping off. Laying the groundwork was important so that Roque wouldn’t slip into a state of self-pity or depression over losing the rights to the steam engine, after seeing his hard work and innovation rent to pieces before him.

But he would surely be given something new to strive towards; Partitio would see to that. His vision of the future was a bright one, after all, where every person had a place doing what they did best.

And he firmly believed that he could achieve that.

“In the end, a person can’t achieve nothin’ unless they got faith in themselves.”

“Everyone’s got a job they’re suited for. Only problem’s figurin’ out what that is.”

He really was one of a kind. Bifelgan would certainly be proud of his chosen champion were he watching.

Perhaps he was. Who could say, really?

“You actually did it, Partitio!”

The cleric watched as Ori ran up to the merchant, the first of the scriveners to brave the wreckage, with a wide grin upon her face.

“I suppose congratulations are in order. I can’t wait to write about this—it’ll be our best selling issue yet!”

“Heh, you think? I couldn’t’ve done it without you though, Ori. You really stuck your neck out for me this time, so if there’s anythin’ you need, you just name it. I’d be more than happy to return the favor.”

“Well, in that case...how about an up close and personal interview with yours truly! I want all the details—and completely exclusive, of course. Can’t have the competition trying to copy my sure-to-be front page article!”

“Hey, no fair! We want details too! You can’t monopolize him like that!”

In no time at all, Partitio was surrounded by journalists. Apparently all it had taken was the potential threat of losing out on a story to rekindle that boldness of theirs, and Temenos watched, amused, as Roque quietly slipped away so as not to be caught up in the chaos. A wise man he was to avoid the rabid dogs, hungry for even the smallest of scraps.

Scriveners truly were terrifying people; Partitio was sure to learn that lesson soon enough. But if the world were to hear of his story because of it, to hear that there really was someone out there who wanted to change things for the better, then...

Well, perhaps that wouldn’t be so bad.

“I’m a merchant, that’s true, but I believe there’s somethin’ out there more valuable than wealth. People’s happiness. I wanna be in the business of tradin’ bliss.”

It wouldn’t be bad at all, really. Every new dawn rose with thousands of possibilities, and sometimes all anyone needed was just a little bit of hope. Temenos firmly believed that.

However, faith in the future was not an easy thing, especially for someone like him. But faith in the people who would stake all of themselves on making it brighter? Well...

He might be able to believe in that.

Chapter Text

The next day dawned just the same as any other after spending the night at a local inn. Except for the fact that someone was knocking rather incessantly on his door at too-early-o’clock in the morning.

Temenos, despite what many had often assumed, was not an early riser. Nor was he a morning person. In fact, he much preferred to sleep in whenever he could—which wasn’t often, unfortunately. Not only was it rather difficult to sleep in while traveling, due to just how much needed to be done in the mornings before setting off, but his rest was rarely peaceful enough to allow such a thing in the first place.

Yet it always seemed to be the case that whenever he was sleeping peacefully, someone would always manage to wake him so that he couldn’t simply enjoy a lazy morning. A shame, truly.

With a deep sigh, the inquisitor forced himself out of bed, and after deciding that he didn’t care about how unkempt he probably looked, he walked over to the door and cracked it open.

On the other side was Partitio, looking as bright, cheerful, and immaculately dressed as he always did in the morning. Were Temenos a pettier person, he might’ve been irritated by that.

“G’mornin’, Temenos!” the merchant greeted. “Sorry to wake you. I promise I wouldn’t have if it weren’t for somethin’ important.”

“Something important, you say?” he questioned sleepily as he rubbed at his eyes, attempting to wake himself up a little more since it seemed he would not be returning to bed this morning.

“Yeah. I was hopin’ that you ‘n’ Mister Osvald might come with me when I talk to Mister Roque today.”

...Oh?

“A curious request,” he replied, suddenly feeling considerably more awake than before. “Why the two of us specifically? I’ve not much of a mind for business, you know.”

“Yeah, I know, but the two o’ you are good at noticin’ all the little details that other people miss. I won’t say much ‘bout it now, but the idea I have, it’s a big one. It could change a lotta people's lives, maybe even the whole world, and I want to make sure I don’t overlook somethin’, that I get all the important bits right, so—”

“Say no more. I shall be along shortly.”

Partitio’s smile had faded considerably as he began rambling off his reasons for asking, the nervous furrow in his brow saying more than words ever could about how much this mattered to him, how much he was willing to invest in this new idea of his. It would be rather heartless to deny such an earnest request, especially when it came from such an earnest friend, and so how could he possibly do anything less than agree to go with?

That familiar brightness returned to the merchant’s face as relief settled upon it.

“Thankee kindly, Temenos. I’ll be down in the lobby with Mister Osvald—and don’t worry ‘bout needin’ to grab breakfast or anythin’, I already took care o’ that. See ya in a few!”

As soon as Partitio disappeared, the cleric closed the door and took a deep breath. It really was far too early in the morning for such blinding cheer...

Or maybe you’re just getting old, Temenos, he could hear a voice saying in the back of his head, one that sounded very much like Throné. His dear assistant would say something like that, wouldn’t she? Not wanting to prove that disparaging comment right, he got himself ready in record time and then made his way to the lobby where the merchant and scholar were indeed waiting for him.

Partitio was holding a bag in his arms, filled with what appeared to be food. Or, more specifically, pastries.

“Was this your backup plan in case I said no?” the inquisitor asked upon being handed a jam-filled roll. “Bribing me with pastries?”

“Not at all! I knew you’d say yes once I pleaded my case. You’re a good sort, even if you are kinda prickly sometimes. This is just a thank you for comin’ with me, and because we all gotta eat, right?”

Temenos took the pastry and watched as something curious and thoughtful crossed the merchant’s face before Partitio suddenly asked, “Would that have worked though? Bribin’ you with pastries?”

“It might have,” he replied with a smile, undeniably amused as he took a small bite of his roll. “I am rather fond of them, after all.”

“Guess I’ll keep that in mind. Anyway, c’mon you two, let’s get goin’. Don’t want to keep Mister Roque waitin’.”

He was quite tempted to say that he didn’t mind at all if they kept Roque waiting, but he knew that Partitio had already forgiven the man for his wrongdoings, and so he decided to hold his tongue. There was little point in being bitter on someone else’s behalf when that someone else wasn’t bitter at all. Partitio was forgiving to a fault, always looking forward instead of dwelling on past grievances, and so while Temenos would remain cautious about this endeavor, he was willing to give Roque the benefit of the doubt. For now. Time would tell whether that was a mistake or not.

Without further ado, the three of them made their way to the factory, and this time they were allowed through without any sort of resistance from the guards. In fact, upon walking past the gates, they were ushered along into the factory itself by one of the workers and then led towards a room that was clearly used for staff meetings and the like.

Sitting on one side of the long table, rather than at its head, was Roque Brilliante, nursing a cup of steaming coffee. He looked...different from yesterday, and not just because he had chosen to forgo his fancy top hat and jacket. While he didn’t seem particularly well rested or anything, he did appear to be more mellow, more...at peace, perhaps. It was the look of a man who was ready to listen and possibly accept whatever came next.

“G’mornin’, Mister Roque!” Partitio greeted with a grin and a wave. “Glad to see you’re lookin’ well.”

That comment earned him a scoff, though one of amusement rather than derision.

“While I doubt I look anything even remotely close to ‘well’ right now, I appreciate the sentiment,” he replied. “Come, take a seat, and let us discuss this new business venture of yours.”

Unlike Partitio, Roque did not bring any associates to their little meeting. Temenos wondered if that was a show of trust towards Partitio or simply confidence in himself. Perhaps it was a bit of both, considering the relationship these two had.

As soon as everyone was seated and equipped with freshly brewed cups of coffee and pastries—a necessity for any early morning meeting, according to some—Partitio wasted no time explaining his brand-new idea to them, the inspiration that he had been struck with upon seeing the steam tank yesterday. And simply put, all three of them were shocked by what he had come up with.

Changing the world indeed... He certainly did dream big, their charismatic merchant. From the beginning, his goal had always been a lofty one, something that seemed damn near impossible to accomplish, but at the same time it didn’t come without a good deal of understanding in regard to what would and wouldn’t work on the road to achieving it.

Partitio knew that money itself could not solve poverty. Rarely did throwing money at a problem actually manage to resolve it at all (Alrond could attest to that, his father having done so only to destroy his town’s economy in the process). Creating more jobs, making it possible for people to earn a living wage, that’s what was needed. Livelihoods themselves had to be changed. Sure, there would always be those greedy, covetous people that would constantly want more, as well as those who actually enjoyed living outside the law and stealing whatever they could from others, but most would probably be content with food on the table and a roof over their heads. Something stable and reliable and sustainable.

Everything Partitio did was for the sake of taking even one step closer to that sort of bright, prosperous future, and this was no exception.

He really was an incredible merchant.

“I’ve already got a name for it too! The steam locomotive. So, how ‘bout it, Mister Roque? What do you think of my idea?”

“That’s...” Roque seemed a little lost for words, which was probably a rare feat for such an eloquent man. It likely wasn’t often that someone could catch him so thoroughly off guard. “To think that you came up with all of that just by looking at something I had designed to be a weapon... It’s remarkable. This truly could revolutionize the world. A new method of transportation across land—not just for goods but for people as well, and I am certain couriers would be able to make use of it too, as it would be far faster and more reliable than delivering letters by horse or caravan.”

“Exactly! Just think ‘bout how much closer everything’ll be. It’ll facilitate more travel, and more travel means more business, and more business means more money and jobs! Plus it’ll cut down on the cost of transportin’ products, which’ll cut down the price of goods. Everyone’ll benefit from this in the long run.”

“Impressive,” said Osvald, who had been listening quietly the whole time but not without an intrigued glint in his eyes. “You’ve really thought this through, and in only half a day as well.”

“How could I not? Things like this always get the blood pumpin’. Of course, I’m not too good with all the logistics and the technology part of it. I know it’ll take a lotta time ‘n’ work, and that it might be hard to build tracks in the desert and have it run all the way out to Ku, but I want to believe that it’s possible, that if we all put our heads together, we can figure it out.”

“Indeed. You’ll have to take the individual climates and varying temperatures into account. It might be worth consulting with some of the scholars in Montwise who are well versed in such things. You could also look to make use of magical amplification as well.”

“A sound suggestion,” Temenos agreed. “It may be necessary given just how dry Hinoeuma is. At the very least, you could use ice magic to create a reliable supply of water for the engine.”

“I suppose magic might be able to help us solve the cold problem too,” said Partitio as he latched onto the idea of combining magic with technology. “Clockite gets brittle the colder it gets, which could make travelin’ through the Winterlands difficult. We may need to put a lot o’ heads together to solve that particular problem.”

The inquisitor simply blinked at him for a moment, surprised, before asking, “The Winterlands?”

“Well, yeah,” the merchant replied, as if it were obvious. “I figured we’d start with the western continent since the land there’s a lot more consistent, and then later, once we all figure out the best way to do things and have some experience under our belts, we could set up a railway in the east too. It’ll be a bit more challengin’, what with all those hills and mountains and the different temperatures, but I’m sure it’s possible. There’s no reason the eastern continent can’t benefit from this too.”

Temenos was genuinely taken aback, but in a good way. In a very, very good way, because gods, that...that would make his job so much easier. Traveling through the Crestlands and the Winterlands was exhausting, especially during the colder seasons. For example, the journey from Flamechurch to Stormhail was probably a good week or so on average, due in no small part to both the terrain and weather. In fact, that very difficult trek was one of the reasons why all of the issues with the Sacred Guard had gotten so incredibly out of hand, because keeping any sort of tabs on the organization was hard to manage when the trip to get there was such an arduous and dangerous one to make. Kaldena and many others had taken advantage of that unmonitored isolation to do as they wished, and if left unchecked, it could very well become that way again even after being rebuilt. However, if it were easier to reach and significantly faster to get there, then checking in more regularly would be entirely possible and a task that he certainly wouldn’t mind taking on himself.

After all, it would give him the perfect excuse to visit his little lamb, because once everything was said and done, Crick would likely be returning to the Sacred Guard. Even if Temenos would rather he be stationed in Flamechurch. With him. It was a selfish thought, and one he had no intention of voicing, not ever, but if he couldn’t have a life where Crick served close by as a knight, then at the very least he could take a steam locomotive to visit him in Stormhail on a regular basis. He could be content with that.

(Or at least he tried to tell himself that he could be content with that. He much preferred the idea of sharing meals together in Flamechurch though).

“It’s gonna be a lotta work, I know that,” Partitio continued. “But with your company, Mister Roque, I know we can make it happen.”

“My company...” Roque said, the words practically a sigh, laced with something resigned and nostalgic. “I built it from the ground up over the past eight years, using the profits from the steam engine and the money I took from Oresrush through the silver tax and land deed. And now, having lost the rights to the steam engine, this factory will not be able to continue as it has been. If nothing changes, it truly will all crumble away.”

The older merchant looked across the table with a firm expression, with eyes unclouded, and told his former apprentice, “You are not the only one who did a considerable amount of thinking last night, Partitio, and after hearing your proposal, I believe I have come to a decision. Everything you do is for the sake of others, while everything I did was for the sake of myself. I didn’t care about bettering people’s lives, about making the world itself more prosperous. Other people were the last thing on my mind, including my employees. And so, I have decided that I will step down as company president...and pass the reins on to you.”

There was a prominent silence after that declaration, as the words slowly sank in. Suffice it to say, Temenos had not been expecting that. He was pretty sure that none of them had been expecting that. Partitio’s eyes in particular were as wide as saucers as he looked at his mentor as if the man had suddenly grown a second head.

“Mister Roque, I...I-I’m honored to be sure,” he began, “but I don’t know the first thing ‘bout runnin’ a big company like this.”

“Oh?” Roque questioned with the beginnings of an amused smile on his lips. “I believe you already know plenty. I meant what I said to you yesterday. It is time for me to step out of the spotlight and entrust the future to you. That being said, it’s not as if I intend to leave the company. You came seeking a mutual partnership with me, did you not? To be ‘business partners,’ so to speak?”

“I did. You know way more than I do ‘bout the steam engine and ‘bout what’s needed to make my idea work. There’s no way I can do this without you, Mister Roque, and I wouldn’t want to neither.”

“Then I see nothing wrong with having you step into the role of president while I step down into the role of a consultant. It will...take some time to restructure the company, of course, and we’ll have to revise many of our policies. We will also want to have Floyd relocated to this factory, as I am sure he’ll wish to be a part of this and will likely have many ideas on the matter.”

“Oh! I suppose I should try ‘n’ get word out to Thurston too. I wonder if he’s still hangin’ around Wellgrove or not...”

Roque seemed a bit surprised by that, blinking bemusedly.

“Thurston?” he questioned.

“Yeah, I promised him a job,” Partitio explained. Temenos wondered what Roque’s reaction would be if he ever learned about that particular story, but Partitio seemed to understand that now probably wasn’t the best time to tell it and kept his explanation short. “He’s got a lotta tenacity—I’m sure he’d be a big help to the company. Just gotta find the right place for him to really shine is all.”

Roque simply shook his head in what was probably disbelief, looking half exasperated and half fond before stating, “It really will take a considerable amount of time to organize everything and solidify this partnership. We’ll need to write up several documents, create new policies, hold a meeting with all of the staff... How long will you be staying on the island, Partitio?”

“Uh...”

Those unsure eyes drifted over to the inquisitor, clearly looking to him for an answer to Roque’s question, because out of the three of them, Temenos probably had the best understanding of their current timeframe.

“Well,” he began, taking a second to think about it, “as of right now, in order to guarantee that we reach Timberain in time for the coronation, we would only be able to spare a day or so. However, if we were to change our original plan and dock at the Carckridge harbor instead, we should be able to cut our travel time down by close to a week. While the Canalbrine harbor is of course much safer, Crackridge is closer to the Leaflands. As the owner of our ship, the decision is ultimately yours, Partitio. If you would like to spend a few more days working out the details of your joint business venture, then you may certainly do so.”

“Well, alrighty then!” the man replied with a bright grin. “If y'all really wouldn’t mind stickin’ around for a bit, then I’d like to get some o’ the groundwork taken care of before we leave.”

“I see nothing wrong with that,” agreed Osvald. “I’m sure the others won’t have any complaints either.”

“Great! Then let’s do this thing, Mister Roque. So, where should we start?”

About halfway through the afternoon, Temenos and Osvald were finally released from what had proven to be a very long but very fruitful business meeting. Gods, he did not envy Partitio in the slightest if that was the future that awaited him as the soon-to-be-president of a massive company. Spending an entire day sitting around a table, writing up proposals, discussing finance, making managerial decisions, what a nightmare. His own business with the Sacred Guard and the pending trial was bad enough; he could scarcely imagine having a job completely centered around that kind of thing.

Of course, Partitio wasn’t really one for sitting at a desk doing paperwork either. He was much more hands-on when it came to commerce and would likely spend his time galivanting about rather than directly managing everything himself. Not a bad way to handle things, really, provided that the people under him could be trusted. Partitio was rather good at fostering trust and goodwill in others though, and something told him that was unlikely to change no matter what sort of role he was placed in. He probably wouldn’t have anything to worry about, truthfully.

He had also proven to be a lot better at the “little details” than he had given himself credit for.

“Honestly, I feel as though we barely contributed at all,” Temenos said to the scholar at his side as they walked through the town. “But I suppose if our mere presence was enough to give him the support he needed, then the time was still well spent.”

“Indeed. It truly was a fascinating idea he came up with, and in so little time as well. Imagine how much easier it will be for people to travel. And it’s not as if those who are often hired to protect caravans and travelers will be out of a job either, as the steam locomotive will need capable fighters to provide security and fend off would-be thieves and monsters. It truly will be beneficial to all, as he said. I’ve half a mind to assist him when the time comes where magical amplification might be necessary to traverse the more difficult climes. In fact, I can think of a few possible theories already.”

“If anyone could solve that particular problem, I am certain it would be you. While I doubt that I have much to contribute to our dear Partitio’s plans, I very much look forward to seeing how well this all goes. My own job will be made much easier in the future if I don’t have to walk all the way to Stormhail in order to check in on the Sacred Guard.”

Osvald gave him a curious look at that, one brow raised in question.

“You don’t plan on disbanding it then?” he asked. “I thought that was the point of putting the organization on trial.”

“Well, it is my hope that once the corruption has been properly weeded out, those who remain can rebuild it into what it was originally designed to be: the sword and shield of the church. Somewhere along the way, they gained too much independence, which made it easy for Kaldena to rise up the ranks and manipulate those under her. Part of the reason that I have been working so hard on writing that proposal for the court is because I wish to achieve a very specific outcome, though ultimately the decision will be out of my hands. Still, I believe it should be possible. After all, it would be a shame for all those hardworking Sanctum Knights to suddenly find themselves without a home.”

The scholar gave a thoughtful hum, and while it felt like he wanted to say something about that, to make some sort of comment (probably a sarcastic one) about not realizing how “sentimental” the inquisitor was, he thankfully held his tongue. Temenos did not need anyone prying into his reasons. The bottom line was that, at the end of the day, despite his dislike of the organization, he did want the Sacred Guard to continue on as a part of the church. Just with less autonomy and captains trying to perform dark rituals that could plunge the world into chaos. That wasn’t too much to ask for, surely.

If he played his cards right, he could achieve that outcome. For the sake of all those bright young knights like Crick and his friend Ort, he wanted to do what he could.

The inquisitor fought the urge to release a small breath of laughter as a smile began to tug at his lips. Honestly, when did he become so altruistic in his endeavors? Roi would have probably teased him endlessly for those kinds of thoughts while at the same time being quite proud of him for it. Sentimental indeed.

He had his fellow travelers to thank for that. And a certain little lamb as well. They truly were such good people. They made him want to be better too.

Perhaps someday.

As the two of them finally made it back to the inn, they pushed open the door, stepped into the lobby, and immediately found themselves on the other end of several curious, not to mention somewhat impatient, stares.

“There you are!” said Agnea, getting up from a table that she had been sitting at with Castti and Ochette. “Where have you two been? You were gone all day!”

Huh. He hadn’t been expecting that kind of reaction. It certainly begged a few questions, that was for sure.

“Did Partitio not tell any of you that we would be at the factory?” he asked, because it wasn’t really like the merchant not to tell anyone where he was going.

“He did, but he didn’t say nothin’ about you two goin’ with. We were lookin’ for you all morning!”

Next to him, he heard Osvald breathe a deep, exasperated sigh, because while Partitio had clearly said where he would be, he had apparently failed to mention the part about taking the scholar and cleric with him. In his excitement, he must have forgotten, or perhaps it had been a spur-of-the-moment decision to bring them with and therefore he hadn’t had an opportunity to tell anyone. They did leave rather early, after all, and there had been no one else in the lobby at the time.

Perhaps someone should have left a note or a message with the innkeeper. Hopefully their friends hadn’t worried over them too much. It's not like the island was particularly dangerous or anything. There were only so many places they could have gone.

“Apologies,” he said, because even though the fault wasn’t his, placating a worried Agnea was always the best option. “I had assumed that Partitio would have said something to one of you, but evidently that was not the case. Fear not, we were simply caught up in a business meeting is all. There was quite a lot to discuss, and we were only just released.”

“You spent all of that time in a business meeting?” asked Castti, curious. “What was it about?”

“...Did he not mention his idea to any of you?”

The apothecary shook her head, and Temenos immediately decided that he wasn’t going to say anything about the steam locomotive, because that was a story for Partitio to tell, not the two of them. The merchant had been very excited about it, about all of the possibilities he had come up with, and it would be a shame to take away the joy of telling the rest of their friends from him after how hard he had worked to make it this far.

The merchant could tell them all later, perhaps during dinner, but there was one thing, however, that should really be discussed prior to that.

“While I won’t go into the details, as I am certain Partitio will want to tell you all himself,” he began, “it was decided during our meeting that we shall be staying on the island for a few additional days, rather than setting off tomorrow as originally planned.”

“Oh?” He could see the beginnings of worry start to form upon Castti’s brow, and so he quickly put her concerns to rest.

“Therefore, in order to make up that time, we shall be sailing to the Crackridge harbor and docking there instead of Canalbrine. That should save us an entire week on our journey to Timberain, not to mention give us plenty of time to stop in Wellgrove and pick up supplies. Worry not, Castti. We shall arrive in time for the coronation. None of us would ever allow for it to be otherwise.”

“I know. Thank you.” She breathed a deep sigh, but the worry didn’t abate. “It’s just that the closer we seem to get, the more it starts to hit me. What I’m up against isn’t just Trousseau, but a poison that has no cure. The only reason I managed to survive is because of the snowdrops Malaya gave me, and because I’ve built up a resistance to most poisons over the years. If he found a way to make it more potent...I don’t know if I’ll be able to save everyone.”

“You can do it, Ma!” said Ochette as she practically stood up in her chair, looking quite confident in her declaration. “No one knows more about medicine than you. And besides, we’ll all be there to help you, right? We’ll make sure to keep all of those people safe, you can count on it!”

The apothecary smiled in that fond, motherly way she so often did when it came to Ochette. That unwavering, childlike belief of hers was such an innocent, pure thing, and it made it rather hard to contradict her whenever she put her foot down about something.

“Thank you, Ochette,” she replied. “I suppose there’s not much point in worrying about it right now. Instead, I should use this extra time to start figuring out an antidote, just in case. I want to be prepared for anything. Malaya believed that I could do it, and so I just need to have more faith in myself.”

Castti looked up, those clear blue eyes meeting his, and her soft smile quickly turned into something far more wry.

“While you’ve definitely given me more than a few headaches over this past month, I suppose it wouldn’t be a bad idea to borrow a page out of your book just this once, Temenos. Although I sometimes wonder if that faith you seem to have in yourself is more obstinance than anything else. Or perhaps just arrogance.”

“Goodness, you truly do give the most thorny of compliments, don’t you? Could you not have called it ‘confidence’ instead? Regardless, I suppose I’m glad that my attempts at mastering Heavenly Shine have provided you with some inspiration. While I certainly do not condone blind belief, I do believe that the best place for one to put their faith is in themself, and you are more than capable enough to do so. I doubt there is any apothecary more suited to the task of creating a cure for Trousseau’s poison than you, Castti.”

Never let it be said that he couldn’t be supportive and considerate when it mattered, and in this case it very much mattered.

Castti had lost everything—her friends, her home, her memories. All she had been able to retain was the knowledge of her craft, her skills as an apothecary, and despite everything that had been eating at her, that empty space in her mind where an entire life had been, she had put her job and her responsibility towards others before herself. Over and over again. And now, after finally having remembered everything, after getting all of those lost memories back, she was probably going to have to kill someone that she had once been very close to, someone who in all likelihood could not be saved.

She didn’t deserve that kind of weight, and yet she bore it without faltering. Nothing would stand in the way of saving hundreds and doing what needed to be done. No matter what, she would succeed.

Sometimes, placing faith in others was an easy thing as well, even if he was no longer used to doing it. Few were worthy of it, after all—but those who were, they should be held on to. He never wanted to lose anyone again.

(And he would do everything in his power to make sure he never did).

Before Castti could reply to his heartfelt compliment—truth be told, she seemed rather shocked by it, which was both funny and insulting in equal measure—the door to the inn suddenly opened.

“Well, look who’s finally back,” he heard the voice of his assistant say as she walked into the lobby with Hikari and Crick behind her. “I was starting to wonder if the two of you had gotten lost or something.”

Osvald rolled his eyes at that before stating, “Hardly. We were assisting Partitio with his business venture since he asked us to come along. I imagine he’ll have quite the story to tell once he returns later.”

There was definitely curiosity in those dark eyes, and he couldn’t help but think that their dinner tonight was going to be a very lively one indeed, with everyone grilling the merchant about his meeting with Roque and the idea he had come up with. He wondered how they would react upon learning that Partitio was going to become the president of the largest company in Solistia. At least a few jaws would probably drop, surely. He was rather looking forward to that.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” the inquisitor began, “just what were the three of you up to? I hope you didn’t waste any time looking for us.”

“Of course not,” Throné replied. “I figured you were both fine, although that isn’t entirely true for some of us.”

Her gaze drifted over to Crick, who was quick to avert his own, suddenly taking great interest in the wall to his right—and the inquisitor wanted so very badly to tease him for it, to ask if he really had been worried even though they were on a fairly safe island, but he refrained from doing so and simply smiled, amused, at his earnest knight.

“I did think you were off ‘experimenting’ though,” the thief continued, “not helping Partitio. Neither of you are all that knowledgeable when it comes to business.”

“He primarily asked because we are both detail-oriented people,” he replied. “He wished to ensure that he was not overlooking anything in regard to his revolutionary new idea.”

“A new idea?” asked Hikari. “You mean the one he mentioned yesterday after the battle?”

“Indeed, and before any of you ask, no, we will not tell you about it. That honor belongs to Partitio, who said he would be joining us for dinner later. He is quite excited about it all, and I would hate to take that away from him.”

Again, never let it be said that he wasn’t considerate.

“Well, then I guess we should get started on making that celebratory meal for him,” Throné said, and it was only then that he realized she had a bag dangling from her hand, filled with food. “We got what you asked for, Agnea. Did you get permission from the tavernkeep to use his kitchen?”

“I sure did!” She bounded over, full of that infectious energy of hers, and took the bag. “This should be perfect. There wasn’t time to have a big celebration yesterday since we were all helping clean up that mess at the factory, but today there’s nothing stopping us from having a feast! I told the tavernkeep we’d be out of his way before the dinner rush today, so we should probably head over there now and get started.”

“You sure you don’t need any help?” the thief asked as Castti rose from the table and walked over to join Agnea.

“The two of us can manage,” Castti said with a smile. “We should have everything done within the next hour or so. Hopefully Partitio will be back by then.”

“He should be,” Temenos replied. “He said he wouldn’t be much longer after sending the two of us on our way. You needn’t worry, I’m sure. I do not believe he has ever been late for a meal.”

“True enough. We’ll see you all in a bit, alright?”

As the apothecary and dancer left in order to make a celebratory dinner for their dear merchant (Agnea had used the word “feast,” but he was fairly certain he had seen the ingredients for a stir-fry in that bag), the inquisitor turned his attention back to Throné, Hikari, and Crick, because he found it very difficult to believe that they had spent the entire day shopping of all things. Surely there hadn’t been that many errands to run.

“So, in addition to purchasing ingredients for dinner, what else did you all get up to while Osvald and I were in our business meeting?”

“Sparring, mostly,” Throné replied, “although we did run quite a few errands as well. Roque sells some pretty impressive wares here, and since a certain someone is in need of a new spear after what happened yesterday, we decided to take a look around and see if anyone had a good replacement.”

Hikari cleared his throat a bit but didn’t add anything to that particular comment. He and Partitio did manage to do quite a lot of damage to the steam tank yesterday, so the destruction of their equipment could be forgiven considering the circumstances. Better a couple of broke spears than broken limbs, after all.

“Sparring?” the cleric questioned with one brow raised, returning to the beginning of that explanation while looking squarely at his assistant. “You?”

“I spar,” she replied. “Sometimes. While I prefer my dagger, I’m good with a sword too, and it’s a way to keep my skills sharp without having to fight monsters all the time. I may no longer be a Blacksnake, but that doesn’t mean I can just take it easy from now on, because even though there probably won’t be a battle in Timberain, the same can’t be said about Ku. Isn’t that right, Your Highness?”

“You do not have to participate in the battle if you would rather not,” the prince replied, looking a touch troubled. “I know you dislike bloodshed, and while I would rather overthrow Mugen without taking the lives of his men, that option may not be possible.”

“As if I could sit this one out,” the thief said, her words lacking that sardonic lilt they so often had. “We already said we’d fight at your side, just like you fought at ours, and nothing is going to change that.”

“Yeah, Hikarin!” said Ochette as she bounded over to properly join the conversation. “You helped save my home, so of course I’m going to help save yours. Besides, didn’t you tell pops back in Gravell that friendship can overcome anything?”

Temenos couldn’t help but smile at that, and he could see that Osvald was unable to stop a small grin from spreading across his own face too. While those had not been Hikari’s exact words, they were close enough, and the sentiment was definitely still there. The future king of Ku was quite fond of the idea that fighting and working alongside one’s allies was the only true path forward and a power that could dispel any obstacle, defeat any evil—even someone like Mugen.

(Perhaps even something like Vide).

“I...thank you, my friends,” said Hikari, looking genuinely touched. “It is heartening to know that you will all be at my side when the time comes.”

“Speaking of which,” the inquisitor began, “have you heard from Kazan at all about when the siege will take place?”

“Not yet.”

“Should you not attempt to check in? I know our constant travels make it rather difficult to do so, and that we can’t exactly deviate from our route to Timberain, but...”

“You needn’t worry, Temenos. My business can wait. Castti’s is far more important right now. Besides, it takes time to organize an assault, especially when it comes to a city as well fortified as Ku. If Kazan hasn’t contacted me, then it is because the preparations are not yet ready. When the time comes, he’ll find a way to tell me, no matter where I might be.”

“You have a lot of faith in him.”

“It’s more trust than faith, I would say. Over the years, I have seen what he can do. Sometimes it feels like he truly does see everything, even the future. I could not take back my kingdom without him. But enough about that, we’re meant to be celebrating tonight, are we not? Agnea and Castti are working hard to prepare dinner for us, so we should do what we can to get ready. Perhaps we could go out and purchase a few bottles of wine for the occasion?”

“I am surprised you didn’t do so already, as the three of you were clearly running errands earlier.”

It was Throné who answered him, and not without a roll of her eyes for good measure.

“Everyone knows that you and Partitio are the ones with an eye for the stuff,” she said. “I don’t drink often enough to know what’s ‘good,’ and there was no way I could let these two pick something out.”

Temenos couldn’t quite hold back his amusement, allowing a soft laugh to escape him as he looked over at Crick. While Hikari did partake whenever they decided to share a drink together at a tavern, he wasn’t one for picking out the drinks himself. He had preferences, of course—they all did—but overall he wasn’t too picky when it came to alcohol. Their stalwart Sanctum Knight, on the other hand...

“Do you drink at all, Crick?” He felt like that was something he should already know, but looking back over the past month, there had never really been an opportunity to find out. All of them had been quite busy after all, especially him, and due to Osvald insisting that alcohol dulled the mind, he had been forbidden from indulging during the days where he studied magic, which for the most part had been all of them. Ergo, there had not been a single opportunity for the nine of them to simply sit down and share a drink. Meaning that he had no idea what his little lamb’s preferences were or if he even partook at all.

“...Occasionally,” the knight eventually replied, looking just a little uncomfortable. “Though never enough that it would hinder my duties.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t do for a knight to be hungover,” said Throné. “Something tells me that you’d be an honest drunk. Even more honest than you already are.”

A dusting of red appeared across the man’s face as he said somewhat mulishly, “I would prefer not to find out.”

A shame, that. A drunken Crick was likely to be quite amusing. Perhaps he would become even more knightly and serious than usual, much like Hikari did, or maybe he would end up a flustered mess. Both were possible. However, he sounded quite adamant that such a thing was not going to happen, and while Temenos did think it would be fun to try and coerce his friend into drinking enough to become at least a little tipsy, he knew that not everyone enjoyed that feeling. Osvald certainly didn’t, and Agnea never drank at all even though she technically was of the appropriate age to do so. To each their own. It’s not like he enjoyed drinking himself into a stupor either—his mind was far too valuable to render it inoperable with alcohol, not to mention that wine in particular seemed to have a habit of loosening his tongue, and yet...

...And yet that did not seem to stop him from indulging in one (or three, he had kind of lost count) too many cups that evening as they all enjoyed a delicious meal and toasted to Partitio’s success.

He should have cut himself off after two drinks, but it had been a very good bottle of wine, and as much as he wished that he could blame that on someone else, he had been the one to pick it out, and so there was no one for him to blame but himself.

Aside from that, however, their dinner had been excellent. As expected, Partitio had shared the good news with everyone, letting them all know about his plans to build a steam locomotive and how Roque had decided to more or less hand his entire company over with no strings attached.

“He said we’d call it ‘Partitio and Roque.’ It’ll be a true partnership, and our company will be dedicated to improvin’ the world and puttin’ the happiness of others above all else. I can’t wait to get started! We’ll work out some of the particulars over the next few days, but the rest will have to wait until we’ve all done everythin’ we set out to do. Mister Roque understands that. Plus, travelin’ across the western continent again will give me an opportunity to look at the land, figure out good places for the tracks ‘n’ boardin’ stations. I might even find some more people to hire along the way!”

He really was such a hard worker, their Partitio, and everyone had been rather excited over the possibilities that his steam locomotive had the potential to provide. That future was a little ways off yet, by at least a few years or so, but it was fun to think about nonetheless. It would certainly make staying in touch a lot easier for them, once their journey was over and they all went their separate ways.

...Separate ways, huh? That...probably wasn’t a good thing for him to be thinking about, after having (just a little bit, mind you) too much to drink. They were meant to be celebrating the future, after all, not dwelling on that sad inevitability.

The fact that he would label it as “sad” at all probably spoke volumes though.

Temenos was not a “depressed” drunk, not by any means, but alcohol did sometimes put him in a maudlin mood depending on where his thoughts wandered—and allowing them to wander to that unavoidable day in the future where he returned to Flamechurch alone was...not a good thing, to say the least. It would be very hard to convince his friends that they didn’t need to worry about him if his tongue chose to betray him while drunk. They would probably accept it as the truth, pulled forth by the disarming effects of alcohol, and that was the last thing he needed. Fortunately the bright, cheerful atmosphere was able to chase most of those thoughts away, leaving him with a pleasant warmth in his chest that lasted throughout the evening and well into the night.

It began to fade, however, once it became time to return to his room. Not by choice, mind you. Throné had insisted after taking his fifth, maybe sixth (again, he had kind of lost count) glass away from him that the inquisitor get up from the table and go to bed. Normally it would be Castti cutting him off, but she had apparently indulged a bit too much herself and had been ushered back to her own room by Agnea a few minutes earlier. Therefore, it had seemingly fallen to Throné to be his minder for the night, who had chosen to only drink two cups of wine and could hold her alcohol quite well, much to his annoyance. A part of him had been expecting Crick to claim that role, seeing as how the knight seemed to believe that looking after him was a part of his job, but apparently he hadn’t had enough nerve to physically snatch that final glass away from him, unlike his dear assistant.

He also wasn’t the type to forcibly hoist Temenos out of his chair by the arm and proceed to drag him up the stairs without permission either, though he did follow behind the thief and cleric on the way back to their rooms.

He had almost forgotten that he and Crick were sharing one, because the knight had already been gone by the time Temenos had awoken that morning. He wasn’t sure if that was an important detail or not. It felt important, for some reason. He was a little too preoccupied at the moment to think about it though, due to being forced to walk up the stairs. Surely he could manage such a simple task on his own, but the woman at his side apparently believed otherwise.

That was...mildly annoying.

“I do not require an escort.”

He loved his friends, truly he did, but that did not mean he couldn’t be irritated with them.

“The fact that you can barely walk says otherwise,” Throné countered as she shifted his weight, pulling his arm a bit further across her shoulders. He was tempted to ask her why she was bothering to help him when Crick was there as well and could simply carry him back to his room, but getting the words from his head to his mouth was proving to be difficult because, “You’ve clearly had too much to drink, Detective.”

“I have not.”

A sigh, followed by, “That’s right, I forgot that you’re a contrary, petulant drunk. For the record, I’m mostly here to make sure you don’t say or do something you might regret in the morning. That’s what an assistant is for, right?”

“...I am not ‘drunk.’”

Another sigh.

“If you say so. Honestly, I’m surprised you let it get this far. You usually don’t drink that much.”

“We were celebrating. I wanted to relax,” he replied. And then after a pause, he added, “It was very good wine.”

That part was important, he felt, to explain why he had chosen to indulge as he did.

“I suppose it was, wasn’t it? You have excellent taste, Temenos.”

“Thank you.”

Throné adjusted his weight again before shifting her own just a little to the side as she turned her head towards the knight walking quietly behind them.

“A word of advice,” she said. “Don’t take anything he says too seriously right now. There’s a chance he isn’t going to remember even half of it, and he probably won’t mean most of it either.”

“I never say anything I don’t mean.”

“You shouldn’t lie, Detective. I’m trying to do you a favor here.”

He decided not to say anything to that, probably because deep down he knew it was true. Throné was indeed meddlesome sometimes, but she did usually have his best interests at heart. They all did, really, when it came to each other. That was just how this thing worked.

And so, he allowed her to continue dragging him up the stairs and into his room, where she then proceeded to sit him down on his bed before looking him over with a critical eye. He wondered what she was thinking about behind that sharp gaze of hers but couldn’t find the words to ask. He was supposed to be getting ready for bed, right? That meant taking off at least his shoes and robes.

Sliding off his shoes was easy enough, but his fingers were a bit uncoordinated when it came to undoing the clasps for his cassock. After fumbling with the one at his neck for a third time, a much smaller, far more deft pair of hands pushed his own aside and took over the task.

He narrowed his eyes and said, “I do not require—”

“You do require assistance, or this is going to take all night.”

He grumbled a bit at that, earning him an eye roll before the thief leaned in and, with a smirk clearly on her face and in her voice, whispered, “Would you rather I let your ‘little lamb’ do it?”

“I...”

How strange... Why did that suggestion sound both tempting and mortifying at the same time? In the end, however, it was the embarrassment that won out, even if he didn’t entirely understand why he suddenly felt that way. Alcohol made his thought process rather muddy, unfortunately. The creeping exhaustion that was trying to set in certainly wasn’t helping matters either.

“No,” he replied with a shake of his head, which caused it to swim a bit, unfortunately. “No, that is...that’s quite alright.”

Thankfully Throné didn’t say anything to that, and in no time at all he found himself being divested of his robes, followed by a sleep shirt getting shoved into his hands. That task was a bit easier for him to manage, much to his relief, requiring very little coordination. Soon enough, he was ready to crawl into bed and call it a night. Hopefully he would sleep well. Alcohol was not always his friend when it came to getting a good night’s sleep. He would be certain to try though—not that he actually had any control over such a thing, of course. He would never dream at all if he did. That would be safer.

Somewhere in the room, he heard words being spoken, but all he managed to catch was a “goodnight” followed by the closing of the door. Throné had apparently taken off, leaving him alone with Crick, who looked like he couldn’t quite decide whether to be concerned or amused by the situation. The cleric wondered what might be going through his head right now.

Normally he didn’t have any trouble asking his Godsbalde a question, but for some reason the words wouldn’t come to him. Instead, what his mouth ended up saying was, “You only had one glass.”

It might’ve come out a bit...sulkier than he had intended.

Crick, looking maybe just a little judgmental, replied, “And you had six.”

“...Ah, so it was six.” That was one mystery solved. Thankfully they had been small glasses. Had their party been using traditional goblets, he never could have managed something like that. His favorite wine glass was sitting in a cupboard back home. It was a pretty, decorative thing that had been gifted to him one year for his birthday. He had always used it whenever he shared a glass of wine with the pontiff.

He couldn’t do that anymore.

“I didn’t know you were so fond of wine,” said Crick, the words a bit hesitant as he took a seat on his own bed and rubbed at his neck sheepishly. “I suppose I...had just assumed that members of the clergy were not allowed to drink.”

“Some do frown upon it, yes, but...there are no rules that forbid it. Even if people like to pretend otherwise. To each their own, and...all that. I learned from the pontiff, you see, how to pick good bottles. Because I have preferences.”

“You prefer things that are sweet.”

He couldn’t help but smile at that as some of the warmth from earlier returned to his chest.

“I do,” he confirmed. “You paid attention to that? How very...how thoughtful of you, Crick. You really are such a...such an adorable little lamb.”

For some reason, Crick’s entire face suddenly turned red. Even though he had only had one glass of wine.

“A-a-adorable?” he practically squeaked, looking...upset? Horrified? Embarrassed? It was one of those things, surely. Or all of them. “What are you—I-I’m not...Temenos, I would ask that you please not tease me like this.”

“Tease you?” the inquisitor asked, his brow pinching, his mouth pulling into a confused frown. He didn’t understand what his Godsblade was saying. “It was not my intention to... I thought I already told you that before, back in...in Montwise, did I not?”

His mind was maybe a little fuzzy (or a lot fuzzy), but he was pretty sure he remembered saying something like that while the two of them had been resting at the inn, after his first attempt at Heavenly Shine. He specifically remembered using that word, along with the term “charming” as well. Had Crick not understood the comparison? The knight was both of those things, what with his pretty blue eyes, golden-brown hair (that was the perfect length for running fingers through, or at least that’s what it looked like), not to mention that noble, earnest, innocent disposition of his that was so very endearing. How could he not see that? It was perfectly obvious to Temenos.

Maybe, once he could find the right words, he would try to explain it better. Right now, however, his mind and his tongue were starting to feel ever more sluggish. It would probably be a good idea to turn in for the night.

But he much preferred talking to Crick than sleeping. His dreams were unpredictable. He had slept quite well last night, however. Up until the point where he had been woken up by Partitio. It had been early.

But Crick had already been up by that point. Had he not been able to sleep? Was he a morning person?

Maybe he should ask—

“You should go to sleep, Temenos,” the knight said, having recovered from what had happened earlier even if there was still a light dusting of red on his face. “It’s late. I am sure you will feel better in the morning.”

“I do not...feel terrible right now, or anything,” he replied, even though he did start doing as he’d been told, pulling down the covers on his bed. He still wanted to ask a question though, but once again what came out of his mouth was not a question.

There were things that Temenos actively chose not to talk about. His sleeping habits were one of them. His companions all knew, of course, but they also respected his wishes on the matter and never tried to discuss it with him, even Castti. And so, he was pretty sure that he could blame what happened next entirely on the alcohol (which was a shame, really, it had been very good wine), because without even thinking about it, he said, quite directly, “You were gone this morning.”

Crick looked up at him, clearly confused at the accusation.

“What?”

“You were...gone when I woke up. When Partitio woke me up.”

“Oh. Yes, I...well, I’m used to waking up early. It is not often that I sleep in. I was actually rather...surprised that you were still asleep this morning. I did my best not to wake you, since I...well...”

The knight turned around, busying himself with his own bed as he also prepared to turn in, before quietly saying, “I know you don’t always sleep well, Temenos.”

“...I don’t.”

Just two words, and yet they managed to freeze Crick in place. He watched as the knight jerked before going completely still, but eventually, very slowly, he turned back around with questioning eyes and a look of surprise on his face.

Crick was always so honest, both with his words and his expressions. Sometimes it made the inquisitor want to be honest too. And for that reason, the words kept coming in bits and pieces, broken up as he struggled to organize them, to explain something he had never really spoken about before.

“I haven’t for...for five years now. Or maybe six? Sometimes I don’t dream, but most of the time I...I see them. Both of them. It used to be just Roi, but...how could I not, after...”

“Temenos, you...y-you don’t owe me an explanation, I wasn’t going to ask—”

“I dreamt of Stormhail once,” he continued as he finally gave up on trying to get his blankets situated and simply lay down on the bed, rolling onto his side. “Only once though. I’m sure it...would have been more, probably, had you not...”

“Temenos, please, I—”

“For some reason, I tend to sleep better when you’re here. I wonder...why that is...”

A yawn escaped him as he closed his eyes, burrowing a little further into his pillow. Gods, but he really was getting tired, the warmth of the wine in his blood lulling him gently to sleep. He wasn’t done yet though, his mouth still forming words that he would probably come to regret later, that he usually kept locked safe and tight within himself.

Throné had called him a contrary, petulant drunk. She had forgotten to tack “honest” on there as well. Sullen might have worked too. The things he rarely allowed himself to be.

And for good reason.

“I doubt it will last though,” he said softly, truly on the verge of drifting off as all the light faded from behind his eyelids, as everything began to fall away. “It never does for me. I am...used to it, I suppose.”

One final regret...

“Always left behind, never the one leaving... That is simply...the way of things...”

It was a truth he had learned to accept, no matter how much he might wish for it to be otherwise. Some rules could not be overwritten. Some realities just couldn’t be changed.

He was used to it.

(Because that was simply the way of things).

“A word of advice. Don’t take anything he says too seriously right now. There’s a chance he isn’t going to remember even half of it, and he probably won’t mean most of it either.”

...That was what Throné had said. That was what she had said to him as they had been making their way up the stairs and back to their rooms.

That was what she had said, and yet...how was he supposed to...how could he just ignore something like...

Crick breathed a deep sigh and buried his head in his hands as he sat there on the edge of his bed, as he tried to process what he had been told. None of this was fair. It wasn’t fair at all, really. Yes, he wanted to get to know Temenos better, to be rewarded with pieces of the truth, glimpses behind the mask he so often wore, but...not like...not like this. Not when it wasn’t a conscious choice on his part, not when six glasses of wine had been involved, breaking apart his inhibitions and leaving him defenseless, until all that remained of him was the truth.

Gods, what was he supposed to do? It’s not like he could just forget about it. While Temenos may not remember come morning, Crick did not have that luxury, which meant that he needed to figure out how he was going to respond or if he should even respond at all. The odds were that if Temenos did remember, the inquisitor would not want to talk about it, so maybe it would just be for the best if he tried to put it all from his mind, push it into the corner of things he didn’t want to deal with yet.

But how could he?

How could he, when he had already made the decision to...

Crick raised his head and looked over at Temenos.

In truth, he had already suspected some of it. While there had been no way to confirm without asking the cleric directly, he had assumed that...that nightmares might be a part of the reason, that troubled dreams might be one of the things that kept his friend awake some nights. Having it stated so plainly like that though, and even being told that he had once dreamt of Stormhail, that he probably would have dreamt of it more had Crick not survived (because that was how that sentence was going to end), made something deep within him ache.

He knew that he mattered to the inquisitor, because Temenos had implied as much himself. He also knew that...he was a bit of an anomaly in that regard, because back when they had first met, Temenos had held no love for the Sacred Guard or its knights. He still didn’t, for the most part. And yet for some reason, he had chosen to trust Crick. In the course of a single day—a very trying, tragic day—a newly anointed Sanctum Knight had managed to earn the inquisitor’s trust. He didn’t realize at the time just how out of the ordinary that was, not until he had seen the way Temenos acted towards Cubaryi, towards the other knights, and had learned that many of his comrades viewed the man as difficult to work with and unbelievably arrogant for one of his station.

He did not trust easily, and for good reason. But he had trusted Crick. He had even admitted to wanting to bring him with on his journey had the knight not been so hastily reassigned. To have earned a place at his side so quickly was... It was an honor, to be sure, one that he didn’t know if he deserved, but it wasn’t really about that, was it? It never had been. What mattered was that he was here, and he wanted to stay here, and he would do everything in his power to ensure that he never lost his place.

...And if his mere presence brought some measure of peace to Temenos, well...then that was all the more reason to remain at his side.

Taking a deep breath, Crick pushed himself up from his bed and walked over to the inquisitor’s, grabbing the blankets that he had failed to cover himself with and pulling them over him. Almost immediately, the cleric burrowed further beneath them, looking quite comfortable as he lay there, even though there was no guarantee that he would remain that way through the night. His current peace may not last. It usually didn’t.

“I tend to sleep better when you’re here.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly, not wanting to wake the man but still wanting to say the words, to put them out there, to state his intent. “I already made my decision back when you saved my life. I would choose you a thousand times over, Temenos. So long as the choice remains mine to make, I shall be at your side. I have no intention of leaving you behind.”

He would stay. He would stay for as long as he was allowed to. He knew that on a journey like theirs, a person’s life was never guaranteed, that there was no predicting what would happen, not to any of them, but he would do all he could to make sure he didn’t get himself killed again while at the same time keeping the inquisitor safe.

He wanted a life where he served on the Inquisition with Temenos, where the arrangement between them could be made official, where he could actually be the inquisitor’s knight and investigative partner and no one but Temenos himself would be able to order him away.

That wasn’t too much to ask for, was it? Even if it was though, he...well, he found that he didn’t particularly care. It was what he wanted, and he would make it happen with his own two hands if he had to.

A life spent aiding others, doing good in the world, and protecting someone important, someone that mattered to him. How could he possibly settle for anything less?

It would seem that some of that indomitability was rubbing off on him.

As Crick made his way back to his own bed, he decided that what he had learned tonight wasn’t going to change anything. Because at the end of the day, it didn’t. He had simply learned a little bit more about Temenos, that was all, and if the inquisitor wanted to talk about it, then they could, and if he didn’t, then they wouldn’t. It was as simple as that. There was still a good chance that he wouldn’t remember anything he had said anyway. Six glasses of wine was kind of a lot, but he had looked like he was enjoying himself at least. It had been nice to see him so relaxed for a change.

Perhaps once everything was over, once all of their pressing business had been dealt with, they could all share another drink together, throw a celebration of sorts. He certainly wouldn’t be opposed to that. The thought was a rather pleasant one.

Temenos did have excellent taste when it came to wine, after all.

Chapter Text

This time, the day did not dawn the same as any other after spending the night at a local inn. Instead, when Temenos eventually opened his eyes to greet the morning, he immediately found himself closing them again as the sunlight pouring in from the window blinded him, causing it to feel like someone was stabbing him in the head. He couldn’t quite prevent the groan that escaped his lips as he pulled his blankets up and hid beneath them in order to escape the sensation, but now that he was awake, there was probably no hope of falling back asleep no matter how badly he might want to.

Gods, his head was killing him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such a terrible headache. It almost made him want to swear off of alcohol forever, although he knew that was just the hangover talking. He enjoyed fine wine far too much to ever give it up completely. He just needed to be more...moderate in his enjoyment of it next time, so as not to end up feeling like he was dying the morning after.

...Perhaps that was a bit dramatic. Surely he could be forgiven though, considering the circumstances (even if the state he was in was entirely his own fault).

Somewhere beyond his shield of blankets, he heard something move. There was the sound of a bed creaking, followed by footsteps, before a voice suddenly said, “I know you’re awake, Temenos.”

Crick.

That voice definitely belonged to Crick. Apparently he was still in the room. Just how early was it for the knight to still be there?

More footsteps, and when they eventually stopped, his ears caught the sound of something clinking against the nightstand.

“Here.”

Curious despite how horrible he currently felt, the inquisitor carefully looked over to the small wooden table next to him and saw a bottle sitting there. It was one of Castti’s concoction bottles. He knew them well.

“Castti said to give you this when you awoke,” Crick explained. “It’s supposed to help with your headache.”

That sounded quite lovely, if not for the blasted sunlight still streaming into the room that was far too bright for his poor eyes. Something needed to be done about that.

“Could you close the curtains please?” he asked, his voice coming out smaller and rougher than he had thought it would, his throat feeling a bit dry. The concoction would help with that too, surely.

“What? O-oh, right, of course.”

A moment later, the light dimmed considerably, and knowing that he needed to sit up, that relief was just an arm’s length away, Temenos carefully forced his body into a sitting position, grabbed the bottle from the nightstand, and then downed the entire thing while doing his best to ignore the slight nauseous feeling in his stomach. Even that would be taken care of via the concoction. Castti always thought of everything when it came to making medicine, and by this point she knew him well enough to know what he would need after overindulging. If memory served, she had indulged a bit too much last night herself. No wonder she had made him a remedy without even needing to ask. He wondered who else might be suffering from their celebration.

Clearly not Crick, that was for sure.

Taking a deep breath, the inquisitor leaned back against the headboard, closed his eyes, and waited for his headache to abate. It probably wouldn’t take too long if he just focused on his breathing for a moment and tried to relax. However, he quickly found himself cracking his eyes open again upon hearing Crick return to his own bed, watching as the knight also leaned back against his headboard, grabbed a book from his nightstand, and then proceeded to read, which was probably what he had been doing earlier, prior to Temenos waking up.

He had obviously been up for a while now, seeing as how he was already dressed. Definitely a morning person.

...Huh. That thought felt kind of familiar. They had...talked about that, right? Last night? He couldn’t quite remember the specifics, but he was almost certain the knight had said something about not sleeping in often.

Just how late or early in the morning was it exactly? How long did he sleep for? Judging by the amount of sunlight he had seen, he was starting to think that maybe it wasn’t “early” at all.

He may as well ask.

“What time is it?”

“A couple hours before noon,” was the reply he got, which was...not at all what he had been expecting. While he couldn’t for the life of him remember the exact time he had fallen asleep, he was pretty sure that “a couple hours before noon” meant that he had slept for almost a full twelve hours, which was practically unheard of for him. Sure, he had woken up a couple times during the night, that was only natural, but not once had it been because his sleep was interrupted by dreams. That made for two days in a row where he had been able to rest peacefully. He wondered if drinking himself into a stupor had actually helped for a change, though he very much doubted it. Alcohol had never really been his friend in that regard before.

Once again he found himself glancing at Crick.

“And how long have you been up, little lamb?” he asked.

“For a few hours.”

Suspicion quickly set in upon hearing his answer. That was a bit...unusual for him, wasn’t it?

“Don’t you usually train with Hikari in the morning?”

“I do, but no one was really...in the mood to do anything today. I guess even Osvald had a little too much to drink last night. Throné, Agnea, and I were the only ones who managed to avoid waking up with a headache.”

“Because you only had one glass of wine, even though it was quite good.” He was maybe a little...not upset, but...perhaps disappointed by that fact. He had taken great care to choose good bottles in honor of their dear Partitio’s triumph and soon-to-be promotion (while he still didn’t exactly like Roque, he could admit that the man kept his island stocked with an excellent selection of wine. At the very least, he had good taste).

“It was,” Crick agreed, which helped to temper that disappointment, “but I told you that I don’t often drink, and I have no desire to end up drunk.”

“Fair enough, I suppose, though I am certain it would have been amusing.”

The response he got for that comment was a deep sigh as Crick continued to just sit there and read, and while Temenos was indeed curious as to why the knight had chosen reading a book to pass the time when he still could have gone out to train or even asked Throné to spar with him since Hikari was indisposed, he decided to hold his tongue. Perhaps his overly dutiful Godsblade considered this to be a part of his knightly responsibilities as well, looking after the inquisitor while he recovered from a night of excessive drinking. He wouldn’t put it past him, honestly. After all, he did end up having...how many glasses again?

He couldn’t remember.

“Do you know how many glasses of wine I had?” he asked, because Crick was fairly observant and had a good memory. He would probably remember.

This time, the knight actually stopped reading and turned to look at him as something undeniably hesitant crossed that oh so very honest face.

“Six,” he replied, his brow furrowing. “I told you that last night. Do you...not remember?”

“I...hmm...”

He did not remember. Not entirely. He did remember being disappointed though—the same feeling from just a minute ago, actually—by the fact that Crick had only had one glass (surely it had been good enough to warrant drinking two glasses), but as for a conversation about it, he couldn’t recall.

Which begged the question of what else he might have forgotten.

Deciding that he needed to figure this out, Temenos leaned against his headboard once more, closed his eyes, and thought back to the previous night, going through it all step by step. Perhaps he would be able to remember something if he just thought about it hard enough, as if he were solving a crime or mystery. He had always been rather good at that.

(It did dawn on him that he could technically just ask Crick for answers, but at the same time something told him that might not be the best idea, that he might come to regret it if he did. Not that he wasn’t already regretting his actions).

As he retraced the events from the previous day, he found that his memory was perfect up until about his...third glass of wine or so. From there, everything became a little fuzzy around the edges. He vaguely recalled Throné taking his final glass away from him and dragging him up the stairs, claiming that she was doing him a favor of some sort, and then didn’t she say something to Crick as well? Something about not taking anything that Temenos said too seriously?

The real question, however, the one that he very much needed an answer to was did he actually say something to Crick that he shouldn’t have? The odds were...unfortunately pretty good that he had, given how wine sometimes affected him. But what could he have possibly said? Hopefully nothing too incriminating. Talking about how many glasses they’d both had was fairly harmless, but where did the conversation go from there? What else did they talk about? What might he have decided to bring up in his wine-addled state?

And why was Crick still sitting in the room with him several hours after waking? For some reason, he felt like those two things were related. Sure, it was entirely possible that the knight had chosen to stay because he didn’t have anything better to do, or because he had wanted to make sure the inquisitor was alright, but something told him it was more than that, a sort of...nagging feeling at the back of his mind that wouldn’t go away.

Think, Temenos. The answers were definitely there, he just had to find them, had to dig through that veil of muddiness to figure out the truth.

So, after that feeling of disappointment, what came next? Didn’t Crick say...something ridiculous about clerics not being allowed to drink? He kind of remembered that, because it had been mildly amusing. There were all sorts of misconceptions about the clergy and those who were devout followers of the Sacred Flame (not that he was particularly devout, mind you. He believed in the gods and the Flame well enough, but the church and its teachings were another matter entirely). Some of those misconceptions were downright insulting while others were incredibly funny, and then a few he felt had been completely made up just to poke fun at the easily influenced and gullible. There were no direct rules against drinking though, so long as one did so responsibly. All things in moderation, as Castti had once said. Even the pontiff had enjoyed a glass of wine from time to time.

Temenos had always loved those evenings, where the two of them would sit down together, share a drink, and just chat. Like a father and son. It was a shame they couldn’t do that anymore, that he could no longer... Oh.

Oh no.

Oh, dear gods—was that where his thoughts had gone to last night? To the pontiff? Because if they did, he...he definitely might have said something he had never meant to, that he would just rather not remember. Despite the fact that many would probably claim the inquisitor had no filter when it came to his words, given how often he said what he thought regardless of how insulting it might come off, Temenos would argue that he in fact did have a filter—a very high-functioning filter—because there were actually several things he refused to say and even more that he did not, under any circumstances, wish to talk about. His grief was one of them. He did not require anyone’s sympathy on the matter and had (mostly) come to terms with it on his own.

Not including the nightmares, of course. A rather unfortunate side effect. They had, however, become less frequent over the past month. He wasn’t entirely sure why that was. Having finally uncovered the truth he had been searching for and managing to stop Kaldena before she could take any more lives were certainly a couple possibilities, but another was—

“I know you don’t always sleep well, Temenos.”

Were he a less composed person, he might’ve jumped as those words in that voice flittered across his mind, but...he was pretty sure that Crick had never actually said that to him before, that it must be a mere figment of his imagination, a delusion conjured by the murky mess that was his memory from last night, unless...

Unless...

“I don’t.”

...Wait.

Wait, did he...?

“I haven’t for...for five years now.”

Did he actually...?

Did he actually say that to—

“I tend to sleep better when you’re here.”

...Oh, gods.

Gods, this was so much worse than anything he might have said about the pontiff. He had actually...did he really...

Seriously, for the love of—did he actually say that to Crick? Is that what happened last night, what they had talked about, what Temenos had talked about, and was that why...why Crick had chosen to remain in the room while he slept? Was that why he had been sitting there for the past few hours reading, because the inquisitor had said something so completely and utterly...needy in his drunken state? Throné had told the knight not to take anything he said too seriously, but clearly he had chosen to do so anyway—and how could he not, considering the type of person he was, that annoying (endearing) knightly disposition of his that made him want to be of use, to help, to ease other people’s burdens in whatever way he could.

But Temenos didn’t want that (or at least he told himself that he didn’t want it). He was perfectly fine on his own—he had to be fine on his own, because he didn’t have any other choice. That was simply the way things were. Never once had he admitted to having nightmares to someone before, and now, because he had chosen to get a little bit carried away last night, he had told Crick. While he couldn’t remember exactly what he had said, just a handful of words, the fact that he had brought it up at all was bad enough. What was he supposed to do? It’s not like he could just avoid Crick—they were traveling together, after all—and even if he could, he...well, he wouldn’t want to.

Because there was maybe just a small bit of truth to what he had said. He liked spending time with his little lamb; the knight’s very presence brought with it a sense of...peace and contentment. While he technically felt a similar way when it came to his fellow travelers, there was just something different about Crick. Perhaps because he was one of the few people that Temenos had managed to save, and so having him nearby was a reminder that he could in fact change things, that he had not lost everything to the darkness hiding within the church. Regardless of the reason though, the problem he was currently facing was that he had said as much to Crick, even though he had never meant to, because admitting to it outright was the same as an admission of dependency, and that was the last thing he wanted.

Maybe he was blowing things out of proportion a little. Panic had a way of doing that. The slight throbbing in the back of his head probably wasn’t helping matters either.

It might be in his best interest to just pretend that he didn’t remember anything at all. Feigning ignorance was simple enough. He could probably manage it, provided that none of his earlier shock had reflected upon his face, of course. Hopefully it hadn’t.

Only one way to find out.

With his mind made up, he opened his eyes.

Crick was still watching him carefully.

“Apologies,” Temenos said as convincingly as he could. “It would seem that I cannot quite recall what happened last night. Six glasses of wine is more than I usually allow myself to drink. I hope I did not say anything untoward due to my overindulgence.”

“You didn’t,” Crick reassured him, which meant that at the very least the knight hadn’t been bothered by anything the inquisitor had said. That was something, he supposed. Not that Crick was the type to hold things against him in the first place. While he did occasionally complain about his behavior, he was a very accepting person at his core. The respect and comradery far outweighed the exasperation. Most of the time.

That being said, his little lamb did look somewhat concerned over the fact that Temenos couldn’t seem to remember anything, or perhaps that expression was closer to wariness than actual worry. It was aggravating not being able to remember word for word what he had said, or even what he had done, but a part of him still felt like he might be better off not knowing the specifics. Perhaps those memories would return to him at a later point, when he would be better equipped to deal with them. For now, however, there was little he could do about it. He should probably just get on with his day instead.

With that thought in mind, Temenos pushed aside his blankets, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and carefully got to his feet. As expected, his head swam a bit, and he was forced to steady himself by placing one hand atop the nightstand as he swayed to the side. He just needed a moment to get his bearings.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Crick. Just a bit dizzy is all. That concoction helped considerably, but it was not able to soothe my headache entirely, I’m afraid.”

He watched as Crick’s brow furrowed a bit before he set his book down and stood up, making for the door.

“I’ll see if Castti has anything else she can give you,” he said. “Just wait here for a moment, alright?”

He didn’t even give the inquisitor a chance to respond before he left, closing the door quietly behind him, and while another concoction to fix his headache sounded wonderful, he couldn’t help but wonder if he actually looked as miserable as he felt, if that was why Crick was behaving in such a way (like a nursemaid instead of a knight). Hopefully he wouldn’t insist on remaining close by for the entire day, because Temenos did have things he wanted to do, like practicing magic in the fields outside of town, but that was all going to depend on what kind of state he was in, if he felt well enough to do so. And if Osvald felt well enough to accompany him, of course.

Not that he truly needed the scholar with him in order to practice or anything. He had gotten to the point where he knew how to handle most of it on his own. Besides, he wasn’t actually going to use Heavenly Shine while they were on the island—that would only result in unwanted attention. There was no way that the townsfolk wouldn’t notice a massive dome of light in the distance, and he would very much prefer not to cause a scene during his magical experimentation. Truly, that would be incredibly inconsiderate of him considering what had already happened on the island. Whether they knew it yet or not, there was about to be a great deal of upheaval for the factory workers, and so it would be best not to add to their anxiety by using a rather destructive spell so close to their home. They had enough to deal with. Even if the empty fields would be a great place to practice it at.

With a quiet sigh, Temenos decided that he might as well start getting ready for the day while Crick was off potentially fetching more medicine for him. It ended up taking a little longer than it normally did, due to the fact that despite sleeping for almost twelve hours, he still felt kind of sluggish, but eventually he managed to get himself freshened up and dressed, fixing his hair in the mirror (what a mess it had been) and then deftly doing up the clasps for his cassock with hands that were far steadier than they had been last night. He vaguely remembered Throné having to help him undo them. He really had been in a right state, hadn’t he?

(Perhaps he should apologize to her later for the inconvenience. She would probably just roll her eyes at him if he did though).

It was as he was adjusting his cloak, fastening it in place, that the door to the room opened and Crick returned with another potion in hand.

“Here, Temenos,” he said as he handed the bottle over. “Castti said that this was the only thing she could give you without risking an overdose on some of the herbs, so hopefully it works. She also suggested coming downstairs and eating something since it isn’t good to take so much medicine on an empty stomach.”

“I had intended to do so anyway, but I suppose the warning is appreciated,” he replied as he drank the concoction. Food would definitely help him feel better, and after having breakfast, he could take a walk and get some much-needed fresh air. Perhaps a nice, peaceful stroll would even help to clear his head. While he may have decided not to address what happened last night, he still wanted some time to sort things out, maybe try to recall a bit more about what exactly he had said. Because despite believing that he was still better off just not knowing the full extent of it, curiosity was a powerful thing. He didn’t like not knowing things. He wondered if maybe Throné might have some idea. He knew that she had been there, but for how long he couldn’t recall. Maybe she had left before Temenos said anything awkward, in which case asking her about it would accomplish nothing other than making the whole situation even more frustrating than it already was, but at the same time he just...couldn’t let this go. It simply wasn’t in his nature.

Like with most things, he wanted the truth.

...That settled it then. If Throné was still hanging around the inn, he would ask her to accompany him, either on his walk or while he was practicing magic. It would just depend on who all was in the lobby and what kind of states they were in. Hopefully Hikari had recovered enough to the point where he and Crick could go spar for a bit, because otherwise he got the feeling that his Godsblade would insist on accompanying him throughout the day, just to make sure he was alright. Under most circumstances he wouldn’t have minded it—he would probably even find his excessive concern amusing and tease him mercilessly for it—but this time he definitely wanted the knight to be as far away as possible while he talked to Throné about what he might have said last night. If there was one person amongst their group he could confide in, it was definitely her.

She was his assistant, after all.

As it turned out, Roque Island was actually a rather pleasant place. Not so much the industrial factory town, which the cleric still wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about, but the island itself with its sea breeze, rocky green hills, and mild weather that was perfect for taking a walk.

In general, Temenos rather liked the Harborlands. Were he not as fond of the Crestlands as he was, in addition to being the inquisitor for the church and thus needing to reside in or at least near Flamechurch, he probably wouldn’t mind settling down somewhere by the sea. It did seem to have a rather calming effect.

He kind of needed that right now, hence his reason for wanting to take a walk. Thankfully, everything had gone the way he had hoped it would after leaving his room that morning. Throné had still been hanging around the lobby, and Hikari, clearly feeling better after being awake for a bit, had invited Crick to train with him before lunch. That meant that Temenos had been free to do as he wished after eating a late breakfast, which was to ask their resident thief if she wouldn’t mind accompanying him as he strolled about the island and found a place to potentially practice magic.

Much to his surprise, she had said yes without questioning him about it, without asking why he was inviting her instead of Osvald if his intention was to “train” as he had so claimed. He wasn’t sure if he should be suspicious of that or not. Had he somehow given something away? Did she in fact know something about last night and could tell that he wanted to talk about it?

There was only one way to find out. Unfortunately, starting that conversation proved to be a lot more difficult than he had thought it would. In hindsight, he should’ve expected as much. He wasn’t exactly good at being genuine when it came to these sorts of things.

How best to broach the subject?

In the end, Throné did it for him.

“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” she asked out of the blue, which implied that she did in fact know why he had brought her out here and had likely gotten tired of waiting for him to say something.

He tried to feign ignorance anyway.

“I do not recall saying that I wanted to—”

“None of that, Detective. Let’s not beat around the bush today, alright? I think I put up with enough of your antics last night.”

Fair enough, but...

“You could have at least allowed me to finish my sentence.”

The only response that got him was an eyeroll before the thief turned to look at him, one brow raised, and asked, “Well?”

There was nothing else for it, really; she clearly wasn’t in the mood for his usual games. He figured that he might as well just get it over with then, because this was sure to be painful for him no matter how he tried to handle it. And so, after stopping near a large tree on their path—the perfect place to rest for a moment within the shade—Temenos collected his thoughts and simply told his assistant what was on his mind.

“I do not remember all of what happened last night,” he said. “I remember you dragging me back to my room, but after that I can only recall a few pieces of conversation. I was wondering if perhaps you might know something that could help.”

Throné crossed her arms, shifted her weight onto her back leg, and looked up at him in a way that felt very judgmental. Perhaps he should’ve started with that apology for inconveniencing her after all. He was also becoming more and more tempted to swear off alcohol for the rest of their journey.

“I was only there long enough to get you to bed,” the thief replied with a sigh. “Guess I should’ve stuck around until you were actually asleep. I take it something important happened that you only vaguely remember?”

“Not ‘important’ necessarily, but...” He tried not to sound hesitant, but in the end he couldn’t help himself, because the whole thing was irritating and awkward and for once he just didn’t know what to do about it. He wasn’t used to forgetting things. “I may have...said something to Crick last night that I did not intend to, and unfortunately I do not know the full extent of what it might be.”

This time the sigh he received was a deep, exasperated one, which left him feeling a little indignant, truth be told. Surely his dilemma, no matter how self-inflicted it might be, did not warrant that level of exasperation.

“I definitely should’ve stayed,” she said under her breath before once again looking him directly in the eye and asking, “Why not just ask Crick about it?”

“I can’t.”

Another quirked brow, her dark eyes curious and piercing.

“And why not? Whatever you might’ve said, he’s not exactly the type of person who would hold it against you.”

“Be that as it may, that is not...why I am bothered by it.”

“...You know, this would go a lot faster if you’d just tell me what you think you said. While I can easily come up with several possibilities, I can’t exactly read your mind, Temenos.”

Good, he was tempted to say, because there was a lot in there he didn’t want anyone to know, but doing so felt a bit...immature, to say the least, despite knowing that he wasn’t exactly being mature about any of this right now. He didn’t want to admit it aloud, that he was prone to having nightmares, because as long as he didn’t say the words, he could at least pretend that no one actually knew (even though he was pretty sure that all of them did). Back in Crackridge, Agnea had almost managed to pull the truth from him with her genuine, heartfelt concern over how tired he had looked, but he had still managed to dance around the subject in the end. Unfortunately, that might not be an option this time. If he wanted to make any progress, he would have to tell her the truth, no matter how much he didn’t want to.

It was just...difficult for him, in part because several of his friends had experienced traumas of their own, some far worse than his, and yet for some reason he seemed to be the only one who just couldn’t put the past behind him, who continued to be haunted by it no matter how much he tried not to dwell on such things. He was meant to be indifferent, unflappable. This was a clear failure on his part.

“Well, Detective?” Throné prompted when he remained silent for just a little too long. There was no impatience there, however; she simply knew him well enough to know that sometimes he needed to be drawn out of his own head. “Are you going to tell me or not?”

He should. He didn’t want to, but he should. This wasn’t going to go anywhere otherwise. Plus, if he didn’t tell her, there was a chance that she might jump to an even worse conclusion instead.

Or start guessing out loud just to spite him.

“Very well,” he said, forcing himself to swallow his pride. It had no real place here.

For his own good, he needed to do this.

“I believe I might have...told Crick the reason I have trouble sleeping sometimes.”

...There. The deed was done. Now it was time to brave the aftermath.

Throné was silent for a moment as she stared at him. Only for a moment though, mind.

In hindsight, he should’ve been expecting the response he got.

“I fail to see how that’s such a problem,” she told him. “The rest of us already know, Temenos.”

Of course they did. And of course she would choose to confirm that for him too. Gods, but she really was blunt sometimes, wasn’t she? However, he wasn’t done just yet. There was one more piece to say, the piece that would surely impart upon her the severity of his misstep.

Surely she would understand.

He forced himself to remain still, to not fidget as he said the words.

“I also may have...implied that I sleep better when he’s around.”

This time her eyes actually widened a bit, clearly surprised by his admission (or perhaps by the fact that he would admit to such a thing at all), but soon enough he found himself watching as the corner of her mouth twitched, as if she were trying very hard not to smile or smirk but was failing miserably, raising one hand to hide her grin from view. It was a wasted effort, however, for there was no disguising that look of sudden mirth in her eyes, glinting brightly, which caused his own to narrow as he looked down at his assistant with a steadily growing irritation (it was not embarrassment, he told himself, despite the fact that he could feel his face growing warm).

“Are you laughing at me, Throné?”

“Of course not,” she replied (even though she absolutely was). “I’m just surprised that you actually...well, I suppose you were drunk. And I imagine he took your confession seriously even though I told him you probably wouldn’t mean most of what you said? Honestly, I’m not laughing at you, I just think it’s kind of...”

“Kind of what?”

“Actually, you’re probably better off not knowing what I think. Your face is already a bit red, and as much as you might deserve it given how much grief you like giving the rest of us, I’m not in the habit of making light of something like this. That second part aside though, I still don’t understand why you think this is such a big deal. If there’s one person you should confide in, it’s Crick.”

He was going to ignore that last bit for now. Very pointedly. Because he wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted her to elaborate or not. The rest of it was more than enough for him to deal with at the moment, thank you very much, although it did help that she was being far kinder about this than he had expected her to be. Throné’s tongue was sharp, even sharper than his at times, and so he hadn’t been entirely sure how she would respond—but at the end of the day, the two of them were friends, and friends were meant to support each other no matter what. She had never once not lived up to that.

He could...probably give her a little more of the truth.

“I suppose I am just...unaccustomed to being that honest,” he replied as he leaned back against the tree behind him, doing his best not to shrink in on himself (it was true that he had been a somewhat meek child, as well as a meek adherent, but he was certainly not meek anymore). “I still cannot recall exactly what I said or how much I told him last night, but... Well, it is rather...humiliating, is it not? For a grown man to admit to having nightmares?”

“I don’t think it’s humiliating,” she told him, and sure enough, she sounded like she genuinely meant it. There was no judgment in her voice or her expression, the amusement having bled away into something a bit more understanding (even if a fraction of it still remained). “Besides, I thought you were beyond things like that. What happened to not caring about your reputation?”

“As much as I would like to pretend otherwise, I am not immune to embarrassment.”

The corner of her mouth twitched again, but thankfully she chose not to comment on that. Instead, her reply was, “I honestly don’t think you have anything to worry about, Temenos. Crick isn’t the type of person who would judge you for this. I also doubt he’ll bring it up unless you do, so if you don’t want to talk about it, it’s not like you have to. You could just pretend that you don’t remember anything.”

That was the option he was leaning towards, but...

“And what would you suggest?”

“I think you should own up to it. Like an adult.”

“...I take offense at that.”

“Yeah, well, you’re only in this situation because you didn’t listen to me last night and drank twice as much wine as you can handle. Honestly, sometimes dealing with you feels more like I’m taking care of a little brother than a friend.”

“Little broth—I am seven years older than you.”

“Well, it’s not as if you look it, and you definitely don’t act like it.”

The inquisitor breathed a deep sigh and tried very, very hard not to rise to her bait, because all that would accomplish was proving her right. Yes, perhaps he did not exactly look his age, and maybe he didn’t always...act like it either—but still, that was no reason to take a jab at him for it and claim that his current behavior was more akin to a recalcitrant child than an adult. Of course, the rest of what she had said was entirely justified, because she did try to cut him off earlier in the night only for him not to listen to her, meaning that this was, in fact, a situation entirely of his own making. He was willing to take the blame for that. Owning up to the rest of it, however...

One of the reasons that Temenos had never bothered to tell anyone about the dreams he had of Roi, and now of the pontiff, was because the last thing he wanted from anyone was pity. He did not wish to be looked at differently, to be constantly worried over, to have his friends asking if he wanted to talk about it when talking would not take the nightmares away. He knew, of course, deep down, that his fellow travelers would not behave in such a manner, that the truth wouldn’t change anything, that some of them suffered from dreams of the past as well. Just not quite as frequently as he did, and not for five (or was it six now?) years straight.

The only thing that would put an end to them (or what he hoped would put an end to them) was bringing the mystery surrounding it all to a close, something that he couldn’t quite do just yet. There was still the trial to deal with, and then after that he would need to investigate the Moonshade Order, figure out who their leader was, and bring them to justice for their unspeakable crimes. He also needed to figure out exactly what had happened to Roi five years ago and to the Darkblood Bow he had been so desperate to hide. If only the pontiff could have told him more before his passing, if only he had been able to get to the cathedral sooner in order to stop—

No.

There was nothing good down that path. There was no point in dwelling on what couldn’t be changed. He knew that.

He knew that.

“You’re getting lost in thought again, Detective,” said Throné, drawing him back to the present. “I can tell that your mind’s wandering. Look, if you really don’t want to talk about this with him, then just pretend you don’t remember anything and apologize for your behavior. Like I said, I doubt he’ll say anything about it. He’s not the type to bring it up first.”

“I technically already did that this morning,” he informed her. “My initial response was to feign ignorance.”

“Then why don’t you just continue to do so?”

“Because he remained by my side as I slept. He took what I said to him seriously and acted upon it. I do not...”

He didn’t deserve that. He didn’t know what to do with it either. Why did Crick have to be so earnest all the time, so kind and serious and loyal? What had Temenos ever done to deserve that? Because it wasn’t out of pity that his Godsblade had chosen to act, but out of genuine concern, and that just...wasn’t fair of him. It wasn’t fair, because the inquisitor could never hope to match that kind of consideration, that level of dedication—he would only ever fall short. He did not want to become a burden. He did not want anyone thinking that he needed to be taken care of. He could manage just fine on his own.

“I do not want him to think that I require such things.”

“Then you should talk about it.”

He attempted to glare at her, but it probably came off as more mild annoyance than actual irritation. It also earned him a rather amused smile, something she had refrained from giving him throughout most of their conversation due to the nature of what they had spoken about, but things were clearly starting to wind down now.

She clearly believed that he had come to a decision, that he agreed with her, because she rather cheekily tacked on, “Just don’t forget to apologize though. And next time, maybe don’t drink as much.”

“I shall attempt not to. I believe I have sufficiently learned my lesson in that regard.” Gods, who knew what other sorts of inappropriate, embarrassing things he might say to Crick if such a situation were to happen again? He still didn’t even know the full extent of what he had said last night. Hopefully the rest of it hadn’t been as needy as the part he could remember. Telling his little lamb that he slept better when he was around, honestly... And, knowing Crick, he might try to take that matter too far and insist on sharing a room from now on or some nonsense. It would probably be better to quash such a thought before it ever had a chance to become a full-fledged idea in that adorable head of his.

Which meant that talking about it would probably be best. Even if he didn’t want to. He should have known that would ultimately be Throné’s suggestion the moment he brought this whole mess up. She wasn’t exactly the type who ran away from things, even when the matter was personal. In that regard, he could perhaps admit that she was more mature than him.

He would not acquiesce to that “little brother” moniker though. That was definitely going too far.

“Come on, Detective,” his dear assistant said, still with that amused smile on her face. “Didn’t you say you wanted to get some practicing in today? While I doubt I’ll be anywhere near as helpful as Osvald, I can at least keep you company.”

“Thank you, my dear,” he replied, and then because he felt like he should, because he couldn’t remember if he had said it yet, he added, “And thank you as well for...last night. I know I did not make it easy for you.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” she told him as she began walking off, towards the fields behind them that would be the perfect place to practice magic. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat if you needed me to. I am your assistant, after all.”

He couldn’t help but smile at her as a rush of fondness that was gradually becoming more and more familiar flooded his chest.

“Indeed you are. And I doubt I could ever ask for a better one.”

“Flattery, Temenos?”

“Perish the thought. I speak only the truth.”

“Of course you do.”

He knew she was rolling her eyes at him even if he couldn’t see it, and with a breath of laughter, he pushed himself away from the tree and began following her down the path towards the field. It really was a beautiful day on Roque Island...

He had best make sure not to waste it then.

In the end, it wasn’t until Mahina and Ochette came to fetch them that Temenos and Throné finally returned to the inn. Apparently they had lost track of time and were informed by the beastling that they were going to miss dinner if they didn’t go back right now. She had made it sound like some sort of big tragedy, which...well, to Ochette, it probably was. There was no way she would ever miss a meal.

Surprisingly, he had gotten quite a lot of training done, in between chatting with Throné and stopping to grab lunch. Osvald had impressed upon him the importance of keeping up a normal regimen when it came to improving things like casting time and control, not to mention his magical stamina, and since he hadn’t practiced at all yesterday, he had needed to make up for that today. He was trying his best to stick to it, because he knew that if he could improve his abilities overall that using Heavenly Shine would become even easier for him, that eventually he might even be able to use it at its highest tier without suffering any negative effects. Right now, he was rather hesitant to attempt pairing it with the divine blessing of Alephan, because he didn’t know how well his body would handle it. Best to master Divine Brilliance and get that one under control first before moving on to the next phase of his experimenting. He knew better than to rush into things now.

He could admit to being a little...impatient at the beginning, but he was trying to be considerably more patient now. While still doing as much as he could, of course. After all, it was entirely possible that the last stretch of their journey might very well involve preventing the resurrection of the dark god Vide. Or, the heavens forbid, actually doing battle against the dark god Vide. They needed to be ready for anything.

Which meant that he needed to fully master Heavenly Shine and all its iterations. Nothing less than that would suffice.

Nothing more could be lost.

This time, dinner at the inn was a much quieter affair, especially since Partitio was dining with Roque at the factory seeing as how he had gotten a somewhat late start to his day. They still had a lot of groundwork to get through, meetings to hold, plans to make, but Temenos also suspected that the merchant simply wanted to spend as much time with his former mentor as he could before taking his leave. Nothing wrong with that, seeing as how he clearly viewed Roque as family, and it was important to make sure the man would be okay once he left. No falling back on bad habits; Roque would have to keep the momentum going while Partitio was off galivanting across the western continent. There was still so much left for the nine of them to do yet.

But for now, at least, they could relax.

Dinner was followed by quiet conversation and card games (he didn’t know where Throné had gotten that deck of cards from, and quite frankly he didn’t much care to find out), but eventually the sunlight faded, the hour grew late, and it was time for them all to turn in for the night.

Which meant that it was also time for the inquisitor to swallow his pride once more and actually talk to Crick.

In the end, he had decided to take Throné’s advice on the matter after carefully weighing the pros and cons of his options. While pretending that he couldn’t remember would definitely be easier, doing so carried a few long-term consequences that he didn’t want to deal with, plus things would likely remain a bit awkward between the two of them if he tried to feign ignorance on the matter. Meanwhile, telling the truth and actually taking the time to discuss it, despite being a mildly distressing situation for him, would result in significantly less stress and awkwardness in the future, since he wouldn’t have to keep pretending he didn’t remember. Clearing the air now meant not having to do so later, if the topic ever came up. Objectively speaking, it was the better option. His future self would surely thank him for it down the road.

And besides, he got the feeling that talking about it would be easier for Crick as well, since his loyal Godsblade was probably not the type who enjoyed keeping secrets. In fact, he could practically see the weight of it sitting on his shoulders as the two of them got ready to turn in. He would much rather ease it if he could, having been the one who placed it there. Crick should not have to carry his burdens. He was doing so much to help Temenos already. He did not deserve to be lied to, even when it came to something as personal to the inquisitor as this. It would be unfair of him. He couldn’t keep taking without giving anything back.

Yes, talking about it was for the best.

“Crick,” he called, having waited until they were both done with just about everything, until all that really remained was putting out the lights and going to sleep. The cleric sat down on the edge of his bed, watched as Crick turned to look at him curiously, and then said as evenly as he could, “There is something I would like to speak with you about.”

To his credit, Crick looked more curious than nervous, but it was also pretty obvious just by the slight furrow in his brow and the touch of concern in his eyes that he probably knew why the inquisitor wanted to talk to him.

“Alright,” he replied, taking a seat on his own bed so that they were facing each other and then patiently waiting for Temenos to start.

The inquisitor had practiced this, just a bit. He wasn’t really the type to rehearse what he wanted to say; words usually just came to him without issue. Osvald had told him once, back in Gravell, that he had a tendency to use a “preponderance” of words but rarely ever said what he meant (the scholar’s exact opposite), but this time he needed to make sure that everything was clear. He needed to get to the point.

And so he would start with the most important thing: saying that he was sorry.

“First, I wish to apologize to you,” he began, making sure that the words sounded genuine, that he wasn’t about to give up halfway and fall back on old, familiar habits. Crick deserved an honest apology from him. “I am sorry if I put you in an awkward position last night. I would also like to apologize for...lying to you this morning.”

The knight simply blinked at him for a moment, looking just a little confused, still a little nervous, before asking carefully, “What do you mean?”

...He didn’t want to do this.

A part of him still just did not want to do this, despite it being the logical course of action to take. He just...wasn’t good at it. It wasn’t in his nature to be vulnerable, to admit to a weakness, to trust other people with the parts of him that hurt.

But he needed to try.

“I told you that I could not remember anything from last night,” he continued, doing his best not to avert his gaze, not to give in to humiliation (even though he was starting to feel a little bit guilty about the whole thing). “That was a lie. While I do not remember everything that I said, I do remember telling you something that I never meant to. That I probably shouldn’t have. And so for that, you have my apologies. I did not intend to burden you with my problems.”

Those blue eyes suddenly hardened, the confusion from before fading, and any remaining nervousness in them vanished in a flash of steel.

“It isn’t a burden,” he stated in a voice that brooked no argument. “You don’t have to apologize, Temenos.”

Of course that would be his response. Though a noble no longer, he was still noble through and through. Roi had definitely had the right of it. A “noble flame” indeed.

He really was such a bright, unbelievable light.

(All the more reason why Temenos should never burden him with his problems).

“You have always been far too kind for your own good, Crick,” he said, unable to stop a small, albeit probably sad smile from gracing his face. “Though I do rather like that about you, I suppose. I know that I cannot ask you to simply forget what I said, as that would be impossible, not to mention unreasonable, but I would ask that you please not dwell on it. This is something that I have dealt with for years, and I require no help on the matter.”

“So you don’t want to talk about it then.”

“I fear there is little to talk about. I lost both Roi and the pontiff. They were my family, and there is no changing the fact that they’re gone. Until I fully uncover the mystery surrounding what happened to them, I am likely to continue dreaming. That is simply the way of things.”

Something twisted in Crick’s expression, almost as if the words were physically painful for him to hear. A curious response to be sure. Truth be told, he didn’t quite know what to make of it.

A moment later, however, that pain was replaced by determination. His dear Godsblade really was so easy to read. The clenched jaw, the way his hands curled into fists where they were resting on his knees, the narrowing of his eyes—all of it spoke of defiance, of resolution, of an unwillingness to simply accept things as they were. He had always been that way, hadn’t he? Determined to affect change, no matter what. He had looked at the world, saw it for the cruel, irrational place it was, but instead of wallowing in that brokenness, he had set out to fix things, to make a difference, to give as many people hope as he could.

And he clearly wasn’t going to take this lying down either.

“No,” he stated. “I cannot accept that. There has to be something I can—”

“If you are about to make a ridiculous suggestion such as sleeping on the floor of my room aboard the Grand Terry...”

“N-no, of course not, it’s just...”

The knight reached up and ran a hand through his hair, looking far more bothered by this than he had any right to be. It wasn’t his problem, and there was no way to fix it—determination alone was not enough to lift the weight of his past—but Temenos couldn’t deny feeling touched by that very sincere reaction, that clear desire to see his pain undone. Honestly, this man...

“Not everything can be fixed with good intentions, Crick.”

“I know that, but...it isn’t fair, and I just...I just want...”

Quite suddenly, his little lamb raised his head, sat up straight, and without any further rambling or preamble, he simply stated, “I want you to be happy.”

...Sometimes, it was hard to remain unaffected, hard to feign indifference. Sometimes he couldn’t quite manage to school his expression into that calm and collected mask. This was definitely one of those times. Even if he had been given a hundred chances—maybe even a thousand—to guess how that sentence was supposed to end, he wasn’t sure if he ever would have arrived at that.

The inquisitor’s breath caught in his throat, and he could feel his eyes widening as everything within him came to a stop. For one blessed moment, his thoughts were rendered silent, shocked into submission by such a simple, innocent plea. It was always the humble, kind things that managed to surprise him, that threw him so easily off his game. Most people weren’t so direct, so straightforward. They implied and hinted and beat around the bush (he was personally guilty of all of those things), but Crick...how could Crick just...

How could he just say something like that? No one had ever just...said something like that to him before. It was guileless and utterly ridiculous but in a completely endearing way, and all he could do was sit there and stare at the man in shock. He wasn’t sure if he had ever been so lost for words, to the point where his mind was completely blank. He had no idea how to respond.

...It seemed to take a moment for Crick to fully realize what he had said, and when he did, the abrupt change in his expression had to be some kind of record. Imploring and resolute to beet red in seconds. Truly, if there was one thing capable of restoring some semblance of normalcy to his world, it was a flustered Crick.

“W-wait, no, I didn’t mean...I-I mean I did mean it, but...gods, I wasn’t trying to imply that...that you seem unhappy or anything, I just...I only meant...”

There was no greater amusement to be had, surely.

Temenos couldn’t help it. He tried, he really did, but the laughter simply bubbled up his throat, spilling past his lips, and the more he attempted to reign it in, the more it persisted, accompanied by a rush of pure fondness for the blushing, stammering knight sitting there across from him. Gone was his worry from earlier, all those words he had planned to say, the anxiety of having revealed something to Crick he had never meant to, and in its place was something pleasant and content and free, a feeling that chased everything else away.

He eventually had to reach up and brush a few tears from the corners of his eyes. Honestly, he couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed so hard to the point of nearly crying. It felt...surprisingly good. Far better than the way he had been feeling earlier, that was for sure.

Once he managed to get himself mostly under control, he looked over at Crick, only to find the knight staring at him with a look of startled awe upon his face, not unlike the day they had first met, when he had realized that Temenos was the inquisitor.

“Apologies,” he said, still chuckling a bit and causing his voice to catch on the words. “I did not intend to... Goodness, but you truly are so unfailingly honest, and...heh.”

He covered his mouth, muffling the last of his laughter behind his hand, and with a smile, he told his dear knight, “I do not believe I have ever met anyone as earnest and sincere as you, Crick Wellsley. Please, rest assured that I did not take your sentiment the wrong way. I... Well, I certainly did not expect you to put it so bluntly, but...I suppose I am rather heartened that you would choose to care about such a thing.”

“Of course I care,” he replied, his nervousness fading as something soft yet absolute took its place. “The others do as well. Surely you know this.”

“I do. And I truly am grateful. I would not trade the eight of you for anything.”

He would give everything for the people in his life.

“That being said, I fear that my...difficulty when it comes to sleeping is something that I would still prefer not to talk about at length. There is little to be said on the matter anyway.”

“But Temenos—”

“However,” he continued, cutting the knight off before the two of them could circle back around to the beginning again (it was late, and they both needed to go to bed), “I know now that, should I ever change my mind and wish to confide in someone about this, I can do so with you. That alone is enough.”

Temenos knew that it probably wasn’t exactly what Crick had wanted to hear, that the knight had likely been hoping for something more to come of this considering how adamant he had been, but those words were met with a smile, genuine and relieved, all the same.

“I suppose that’s the most I can ask for,” his little lamb said, “seeing as how you never intended to say anything in the first place. I had resolved myself to remain silent about it and to only speak on the matter if it was something you wanted, but...I guess I did attempt to force the issue earlier. My apologies.”

“Your heart was in the right place. It always is, and so you have no need to apologize. This was my fault to begin with for putting you in a rather awkward situation last night. I assure you that I have learned my lesson when it comes to overindulging, and it shall not happen again. Probably.”

That last bit earned him a put-upon sigh, one that drew a smile to his face. Somehow, the mere act of just talking to Crick always seemed to put him at ease. On the nights where they stayed up a little longer than usual, working away on the reports for the trial, he always managed to sleep better for some reason, despite there being no logical correlation for such a thing. He just...felt comfortable like this, he supposed, even though he knew that was a dangerous mindset to fall into. Comfort never lasted. At the end of his journey, he would be returning to Flamechurch alone. It was inevitable.

However, until that day eventually came, he wanted to hold on to that warm, content feeling for as long as possible. Surely he could be allowed that tiny bit of weakness after everything the world had put him through, after deciding that he would fulfil his role as Aelfric’s chosen no matter the cost? Surely he was owed some due?

Surely you can allow me this one thing, O Flamebringer, can you not?

But even if he couldn’t—even if every plea fell on deaf ears, well...that would be just fine.

It would be fine. Temenos would just have to rely on his own power instead. In the end, he didn’t really need any personal favors. So long as he could continue to beseech his patron’s name for Heavenly Shine, that was more than enough. For everything else, he would simply have to try his best, with or without divine intervention.

Yes, that would be just fine.

(He wasn’t really in the habit of asking the gods for favors anyway).

Chapter Text

In the end, once all was said and done, they wound up spending a grand total of five days on Roque Island. Five days of lazing about and relaxing (for some of them, anyway) while Partitio got everything squared away for his new business venture as well as his rise to president of Solistia’s largest and most successful company. Truth be told, the whole thing went a lot better and far smoother than Temenos had expected. The factory workers had all seemed pretty open to the somewhat drastic reformation, in addition to a lot of the new policies, probably because those in power had made the decision to put quality of life, improved working conditions, and the happiness and wellbeing of their employees first.

Honestly, how could anyone not want to work for Partitio? He was definitely the type of president who would guarantee that his people were looked after. Roque had made the correct decision in passing the torch onto his former apprentice, especially since the business tycoon himself was also starting to look more at ease—less like someone cold and untouchable and more like the mentor Partitio had always considered him to be.

He just seemed more...human, perhaps. A regular person just like anyone else. That wasn’t a bad thing at all, really.

“Well, guess it’s time to hit that dusty trail again,” said their bright-eyed, optimistic merchant as he was bidding farewell to Roque at the harbor. “I’ll be sure to fill Pops and everyone else in on what’s been goin’ on. There’s a lotta folks in Oresrush who will want to be a part o’ this too, I reckon. With a project this big, we’ll need all the help we can get.”

“Indeed. Once Floyd arrives, we can start drawing up some more blueprints and figuring out the exact measurements we’ll need for the tracks. I must admit, I have not been quite this excited about a project in a long time. You can rest assured that we will not be idle in your absence and that the company pledge we drafted will be upheld.”

“I don’t doubt it for a second. You take care now, Mister Roque—and don’t worry, I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Of course. Safe travels, Partitio.”

It really was kind of amazing how some people were capable of such change. Roque had honestly struck him as the stubborn, stuck-in-his-ways type, someone who would try to resist when faced with a philosophy that was the exact opposite of his own, but he had chosen to relent, to listen, to try something new. Losing to Partitio, both in battle and as a merchant, had apparently been exactly what he had needed to pull himself out of the pit of endless greed he had fallen into, to start seeing beyond himself and towards that brighter future, the one that so many had chosen to believe in.

All he had needed was a helping hand and a second chance. Hopefully he would not stray again.

(But even if he did, Partitio would surely be there to get him back on track. Such was his nature, after all).

“Finished with your goodbyes?” the cleric asked as soon as their dear merchant was aboard the ship.

“Yep! It’s time we head out. We got a coronation to attend 'n’ a whole kingdom to save. Two whole kingdoms, in fact.”

“That we do. We should have plenty of time to make it to Timberain, and once we’ve dealt with Trousseau, we can start heading towards Ku regardless of whether Hikari has heard from Kazan by that point or not. It will take some time, of course, to trek all the way from one end of the continent to the other, but I imagine we are all quite used to it by now.”

That was probably an understatement. They had been traveling for months—by the end of their journey, it would be close to a year—and so they were all very accustomed to walking and camping and fighting monsters as they wandered across the world. They had all grown stronger because of it too, each in their own ways. Such a thing was inevitable when setting forth on a journey.

Hopefully that meant they would be strong enough to deal with whatever came afterward. Saving Timberain from a murderer and Ku from a tyrant would not be the end, unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how one chose to look at it), because the gods had chosen them for a reason. There was much more at play, hiding just out of sight. Someday, he would drag it all into the light. He would connect all of the pieces, discover the truth, and pass judgment on whoever was behind it, behind everything they had gone through. There were surely even more threads out there that he had yet to weave together, but given enough time, he was certain he could find them all. With a little help, of course. He wasn’t the only one who wanted answers, after all, nor was he the only one trying to add the pieces up.

Harvey had left behind notes indicating that he had been working with others, and both he and Kaldena had attempted to use the power of the Shadow, whose source was definitely Vide if he was interpreting everything correctly. The Night of the Scarlet Moon had also dealt with the Shadow spilling forth into their world. Then there was Claude, who despite not having any obvious ties to the dark god, had somehow been blessed with eternal youth and magic the likes of which none of them had ever seen. He had been able to conjure tangible shadows to fight at his behest and create chains capable of binding one’s abilities. Where did his long life come from, and what had given rise to that strange magic? Had he been a part of everything too somehow, a force operating in the darkness and pulling the strings? Had his influence spread beyond just the Blacksnakes?

The only ones who possessed immortality were the gods, and while Claude hadn’t been immortal in the sense that he couldn’t be killed, it might not be too great a stretch to assume that he had gotten his power from one. How else could a person possibly attain eternal youth? There was nothing in their world, magical or otherwise, capable of granting such a thing. A mystery to be sure, one that they would hopefully find the answer to.

Because if a being like Claude could exist, might there be others? Had he been an anomaly, or were there more people walking Solistia who had been alive for centuries, maybe some who were capable of perfectly blending in with society? A terrifying thought, that, and one that he wouldn’t dare take lightly. He certainly hoped that there weren’t though, or at the very least that, if there were, they weren’t all as twisted as Claude had been. Living that long probably did things to a person’s mind. Humans were not meant to live indefinitely, after all.

The possibility was indeed something worth considering, perhaps at a later date. He didn’t have nearly enough pieces right now to start wandering down that particular rabbit hole.

First things first, it was time to set sail for the Crackridge harbor, and from there they would be making a brief stop in Oresrush so that Partitio could talk to his father about a few things, then trekking all the way to Wellgrove to buy supplies, and then finally heading to one of the largest kingdoms in Solistia, Timberain. They were definitely going to have their work cut out for them when they got there, that was for sure. Perhaps they would luck out, however, and there would be not a cloud in the sky on the day of the coronation. It was hard to rain down poison without actual rain.

Something told him that they wouldn’t be that fortunate though, which meant they needed to prepare for the worst. In a perfect world, Castti would have no need to make an antidote, because Trousseau would never be given the chance to unleash his malady across the kingdom. Of course, in a perfect world, his heart never would have been twisted in the first place.

Again, best to prepare for the worst. They couldn’t afford to take any chances when there were hundreds of lives on the line. Fortunately, they had plenty of time to prepare. The coronation wasn’t for another couple of weeks yet, and so by the time they got there, they would be ready. Trousseau had to be stopped, no matter the cost. Even if that meant striking him down.

A nasty business to be sure. He wasn’t fond of taking lives. As a healer, that wasn’t his job, and it wasn’t Castti’s either—but sometimes, needs must, even if they were unsavory.

...Perhaps he would talk to her later, about what she intended to do, if she was truly prepared for this. Considering just how much she had done for him, it was only right to return the favor. He could definitely find the time to talk to her in private over the next few days as they sailed to the harbor.

Yes...yes, he would certainly do that. He had always been a good listener (for the most part). It was a very sound suggestion.

What else were friends for, after all?

As per usual, their journey across the sea proved to be rather uneventful. While that wasn’t always the case (their first encounter with the Scourge of the Sea had been one of their most nerve-racking voyages ever), they did tend to have fairly decent luck (most of the time) when it came to being attacked while on the water. For some reason, monsters usually avoided their ship. Not that any of them were complaining about that fact, because they definitely weren’t, although technically it would give him more opportunities to practice with the Advanced Magic enchantment, and perhaps even Alephan’s Wisdom, if they did come under attack. That being said, he would certainly never wish for such a thing. That whole mess with the Scourge of the Sea had been bad enough—the last thing they needed was another giant sea monster to contend with.

Temenos was maybe still just a tiny bit irritated about that, truth be told. While it was true that he had wanted to learn Heavenly Shine in order to combat creatures that were a massive threat, so that he could keep his friends safe in the face of overwhelming might, he did not much care to be metaphorically thrown at said creatures like some sort of secret weapon. Even if the confidence they seemed to have in him was somewhat touching.

Regardless, the point was that their voyage had been peaceful, and that later that evening they would be reaching the harbor, so Temenos had taken to wandering the halls in search of Castti. Their apothecary had disappeared after breakfast, and no one had seen her since. His initial thought was that she had gone to her room, but she didn’t answer the door when he had knocked, which meant there was really only one other place she could possibly be.

Some of the rooms aboard their ship had been deemed as “private.” All of their personal cabins fell into that category, as did the cabins belonging to the crew, but there was another that most of them stayed away from so as not to interrupt the delicate work often being carried out within. More often than not, the door to it was closed in order to help preserve all of the supplies, but this time Temenos found that, much to his surprise, it was actually open for a change. Just enough for him to see inside.

And what he saw had him pushing it the rest of the way open with a surprised reprimand on his lips.

“Goodness, Castti—just look at the state of this room! You have made quite the mess. Just what have you been doing in here?”

Now, normally he would mind his own business. Normally he wouldn’t bother Castti while she was in her “infirmary,” which was what they had all taken to calling the room where she kept her herbs and workstation even though there wasn’t really a place—not even a cot—to actually treat someone inside. However, the door had been partially open, and upon seeing the complete and utter disaster it had become, there was no way he could simply not say something. Their apothecary was a very organized and tidy person, the type who always kept her work areas clean, so this was definitely out of the ordinary for her.

Castti looked up from where she was sitting on the floor, surrounded by plants and bottles and mixtures, seeming completely and utterly unbothered by both the mess she had made and his comment on it.

“I emptied my satchel,” she replied, “so that I could reorganize all of my herbs and see what I have on hand. I want to... No, I have to make sure that I bring everything I might need to Timberain with me. I can’t afford to leave something important behind.”

It was the small furrow that appeared in her brow, the only indication of just how worried she actually was, that made Temenos step into the room.

“You are still unsure about the antidote, I take it?” he asked, because that was clearly what this was about. Why else would Castti have pulled her entire storage room apart, not just her satchel, in order to reorganize it all if not for that purpose? She usually didn’t fret this much about what she carried with her while traveling, since she could easily restock while on the road, but some ingredients were rare, and there was every possibility that she might require some of them in order to heal the effects of Trousseau’s poison.

(Even though Temenos—and probably everyone else as well—was still hoping that it would never get to that point).

The apothecary breathed a sigh, her expression falling as she (much to his surprise) plainly admitted, “It’s just so frustrating. I’ve regained most of my memories from that time, but I can’t quite figure out just what I need in order to treat the symptoms of that poison rain. I know I’ll need snowdrops, and I was thankfully able to collect a few more on our travels, but as for the rest of the ingredients...”

“And so your solution is to bring as many different herbs with you as possible and figure it out as we travel to Timberain?”

“Yes,” she replied, reaching over towards a bundle of skybalm, which was something she always kept on hand and probably always would given how useful it was. He had certainly been benefitting from it over the past month, that was for sure. “I know that it...probably isn’t the best plan, but there’s little else I can do. Even if I did manage to come up with a potential remedy, I would have no way of testing it, and this is one concoction I can’t risk getting wrong. My hope is that I’ll be able to stop him before he has a chance to use his poison, but in case the weather is in his favor that day, I have to be ready to throw something together quickly using as much of my knowledge about medicine as I can. I won’t let anyone else die from this, not when there’s something I can do to stop it, not when Malaya entrusted me with making a cure.”

There was fire in those eyes, amidst the uncertainty, the worry. While she was nowhere near as blindly optimistic as Partitio, Agnea, and Ochette always were, that determination of hers to do everything she possibly could to save lives was a thing to be admired. There were many who owed their continued existence to her perseverance and grit, and there were sure to be many more. A whole kingdom’s worth, in fact.

“I am certain you will be able to manage it,” he said. “Just like Ochette said back on the island, there is no one who knows more about medicine than you. Encouraging words to be sure.”

“Oh?” A slightly mischievous grin began to spread across her lips, tempered only by the worry still in her eyes. “I seem to recall someone else offering me encouragement as well.”

“I am afraid I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean, my dear.”

“Yes, of course. And I’m sure your supposed memory loss of the events before our celebration is also the wine’s fault, right?”

“It might be. Alcohol has been known to do that, after all.”

That earned him a breath of soft laughter, which was what he had been aiming for. When it came to humor, their sensibilities were surprisingly similar. Castti could be just as sardonic and teasing as he was in certain situations. That was probably one of the reasons they got along as well as they did, despite their somewhat differing philosophies when it came to healing. He was nowhere near as indiscriminate as she was, for better or worse. A vow to treat everyone, be they friend or foe, was a difficult principle to follow, albeit an admirable one.

And a foolish one. She was yet another idealist, one who had made the decision to do everything within her power to ease the pain of those who were suffering. A noble goal, to be sure, but still...

Temenos wasn’t quite up to the task of such idealism—extending a helping hand to all in need—but at the very least, he was willing to offer his help with something like this: an immediate task with an achievable end.

“This seems like quite a lot to sort through on your own,” he said, stepping further into the infirmary while also closing the door behind him. “Allow me to offer my assistance. While I do not know as much about herbs as you do, I should be able to be of some help.”

“I would certainly appreciate it,” she began, “but don’t you usually use this time to study magic? I wouldn’t want to impose if you’re busy.”

“It is no imposition, I assure you. In truth, I was actually looking for you to see what you had been up to all day.”

She gave him a curious look at that before asking, “Was there something you needed me for?”

“No, nothing like that. I had simply wished to speak with you a bit.”

“Oh? About what?”

The inquisitor lowered himself to the floor amidst the mess and said, “About Timberain and about Trousseau. I wanted to ensure that...”

He paused for a moment to find the right phrasing, even though he knew what he wanted to say. A part of him was tempted to do what he always did, to hide his reason behind a slew of words, mask it in indifference, color it with humor, but he also wanted to...to take a page out of Crick’s book and attempt to be more honest for a change, to state exactly what was on his mind. He didn’t need to hide his intentions, to try and pretend that he wasn’t as concerned as he was. There was no one here to judge him for it, no one that he needed to put on airs for.

He could just...be honest with her.

“...I wanted to know if you were alright with what needs to be done, what you might be forced to do.”

Those kind, meticulous hands stopped their sorting, her fingers brushing carefully against the leaves of what looked to be a santanejo blossom (he was no apothecary and certainly no herbalist, but he did recognize some plants) as her expression undeniably fell. Just as he had suspected, this was definitely weighing on her, no matter how determined and alright with things she pretended to be. She was only human after all, and one with a heart that was filled to the brim with compassion for others, one who probably, only rarely, allowed her own pain to show.

The two of them were similar in that regard as well, often hiding—sometimes very poorly—the parts of them that weren’t quite whole.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you can see through me so easily,” she eventually said as a small, sad smile crossed her face. “That is your specialty, isn’t it?”

“If you do not wish to speak about it, I obviously won’t make you. It would be quite hypocritical of me considering how much I keep to myself.”

“I...I don’t mind talking about it,” she settled on. “I think it might actually help if I put it into words, although you may call me foolish for some of the thoughts I’ve been having.”

“I doubt I would be that unkind about it.”

“Even if I told you that I still want to try talking to Trousseau? That I want to believe that some part of the gentle man he used to be still remains?”

“I...well.” In hindsight, he probably should have known that she would still be holding out hope, that she wouldn’t be able to just let go of that slim possibility. Bloodshed should always be a last resort. And while he didn’t necessarily share her optimism on the matter, it was not as if he couldn’t understand it, nor did he have any right to decide what was and wasn’t possible. This wasn’t his battle, after all.

“I know you disagree,” she said.

“I do.” There was little point in trying to hide that fact. “However, the call is not mine to make, especially since I do not know him the way you do. For what it’s worth, I would prefer a peaceful end to this, but I also know just how many lives are at stake, including our own. I know that you are aware of it as well.”

“I am, and if there is no saving him, then I will do what must be done. I just...wish I knew why this happened, why he changed. Trousseau was so dedicated to his patients, to the point where he would run himself into the ground looking after them. He was kind and selfless, and his patient notes were always detailed—you could tell just how much he cared about others in every word. He loved being an apothecary, loved helping people, and yet somehow, he... I just don’t understand it. Nothing about it makes sense to me.”

“Was there some sort of catalyst, perhaps? Something that might have pushed him over the edge?”

“No,” she replied with a shake of her head. “I don’t believe so, or at least there’s nothing I can remember anyway. He did mention meeting a man during a relief mission who ‘opened his eyes,’ but I can’t recall any of the details. I know that I was with him, but...who the man was or what he might have said to us, I cannot say. I’m afraid that some parts of my memory are still missing.”

“So you believe this man might be responsible then? That his words might have been enough to sway Trousseau? I suppose that is possible. Words have incredible power when wielded by the right person, especially if they resonate with the one listening. However, to so thoroughly twist a heart in such a way is...somewhat frightening, I must admit. It does make me wonder if there might be more to it than that.”

Those blue eyes widened as she asked, “Do you believe that some sort of magic might be involved?”

“Not magic, exactly, but...” They had encountered this before, hadn’t they, where a person became consumed by their own darkness, by the “shadow” that existed inside every human heart. There was a saying that went something along the lines of “the brighter the light, the darker the shadow,” which he wasn’t entirely sure if he believed to be honest. After all, Agnea and Partitio were both incredibly bright, blinding lights, with barely a speck of darkness between them. He would throw Crick into that category as well. So clearly that saying wasn’t always correct, because sometimes a person’s light was so brilliant that it simply burned away the darkness, so that not a single whisper of it remained (and then there were the beastlings, of course, who possessed no “shadow” at all).

Perhaps Trousseau’s heart just hadn’t been strong enough to resist, despite its light. Perhaps it was because apothecaries spent so much time dealing with life and death, treading the line between, that it was easy to tip too far in the wrong direction with a persuasive enough argument. The Sacred Flame, the source of the light within, was a silent thing. It did not call out, did not speak—people were meant to turn and come to it, not the other way around. The Shadow, however, wasn’t like that. It taunted and tempted, made it easier to give in to one’s worst instincts. While it was often equated with things like hatred and envy, hopelessness and despair were not outside the realm of Vide’s influence as well.

The situation with Trousseau, from what Castti had told them all, felt very much like the latter. Like a man who had lost hope in the world and gave in to despair.

“...Are you suggesting that the Shadow might be involved?” she asked, clearly arriving at that conclusion as well.

“It is a possibility, given what we’ve seen,” he replied. “However, I hesitate to blame everything on that otherworldly force. At the end of the day, it is our own choices that determine our actions. Though certainly tragic in her own way, I would never absolve someone like Kaldena just because she was ‘tempted’ by the Shadow, by the power Vide could give her. It is not an excuse to commit atrocities without recompense.”

“I agree. There has to be accountability. Even if Trousseau can be saved, the price for taking all those lives will have to be paid. I know that. And if he can’t be saved...then putting an end to all of this must fall to me. I have to do it with my own hands.”

“And are you alright with that?”

“Of course I’m not alright with it. How could I be? But if that’s what must be done in order to save countless innocent lives, then I’ll do it. I won’t let what happened in Healeaks happen again.”

He couldn’t help but smile a bit at that, at that steely determination, that desire to protect others no matter the cost. It really was admirable, her dedication, even if it did make him worry sometimes. Those with a tendency to focus on others often forgot to look after themselves. As her companions, they would all have to make sure that Castti didn’t wear herself out on their journey to Timberain.

“If you require any aid, you need only let me know,” he told her. “I am certain that goes for the others as well. You needn’t tackle this alone, Castti.”

“I know,” she replied, and this time the smile she gave him was softer, more at ease. “It really is a comfort, having you all with me.”

“I believe that is true for the rest of us as well. I doubt any of us could have gotten as far as we have on our own.” Because even beyond their close-knit group, there were so many others who had aided them on their journey, people from all across Solistia, and there was no denying the impact their support had made. People were always stronger when they stood together. He understood that fact better now. He wasn’t sure if he ever could have uncovered the truth he had been searching for by himself.

That soft smile of hers turned just a touch wry, a touch mischievous, and while he was certainly grateful for it, grateful to see that some of the weight from her was lifting, he knew to be wary of that expression whenever it alighted upon her face.

She was probably going to say something impish and also probably at his expense. Sure enough...

“You’ve been a lot more direct with your sentiments lately, Temenos. I take it that must be Crick’s influence. You have been spending a lot of time with him lately.”

“That is because he insists on helping me with my reports,” he replied, unable to prevent that tiny bit of indignance from entering his voice. She was clearly trying to imply something, perhaps the fact that Crick’s sincerity was rubbing off on him due to how much time they spent in each other’s company?

“And would you rather he didn’t help you?”

“I do not recall saying anything of the sort. I only meant...” Gods, what did he mean, exactly? In all honesty, he wasn’t entirely sure. Of course he didn’t want Crick to stop helping him, because he genuinely enjoyed the time they spent together, even if a lot of it was pertaining to work rather than leisure. His presence was comforting—Temenos was finally willing to acknowledge that—but admitting to it aloud was still...something he would rather not do. Even though he kind of already had, at least to Crick. It just...wasn’t an easy thing for him. Perhaps someday it would become easier. Someday, he might be able to let go of his reservations.

But that day definitely wasn’t today.

Fortunately, Castti chose to relent.

“Relax, Temenos,” she said. “I was only teasing you, even though I do think there’s some truth to it.”

“To what?” he asked. “That I am becoming more honest?”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“...I suppose it’s not, in and of itself, though it certainly doesn’t suit me or my profession.”

“Of course. We can’t have people thinking you’re softhearted, after all.”

“I am glad you understand, my dear. Now, how about we continue with what we’re supposed to be doing? You really did make quite the mess.”

Castti looked around at the room, at the herbs and bottles scattered about, almost as if she hadn’t realized just how much of a disaster she had created simply by trying to reorganize her collection so that she could put all of the potentially important things in her satchel.

“I suppose I did,” she agreed. “Hopefully I’ll be able to get it cleaned up before dinner, but I guess this is what I get for becoming distracted. You don’t have to stay if you’d rather not, Temenos.”

“I already offered to help, and so I may as well follow through. Between the two of us, I am certain it shall be organized in no time.”

The look she gave him was a grateful one as they both began sifting through all of the herbs scattered about, grouping them together in categories and then setting aside the ones that Castti would probably want to bring. It was slow, meticulous work to be sure, but nothing he wasn’t capable of. He may even learn a bit more about medicine along the way. A worthwhile endeavor to be sure.

But the important part was that their dear apothecary no longer seemed as troubled, the tension in her having bled away—even if such a thing probably wasn’t going to last, even if it would only be for this one quiet moment. More than likely her anxiety would return the closer they got to Timberain, the closer they got to Trousseau, but for now, at least, this was enough. One step at a time, as the saying went, and if she needed to talk about it again later, to voice her concerns, he would be there to listen. He would make himself available for her, regardless of what might be going on.

No matter what, he would find the time.

A small price to pay, really, for the sake of a friend.

...So, it turned out that a lot could change in just a handful of years.

The last time that Crick had been to Wellgrove, the town had been beautiful to be sure, but also very quiet. There had only been a few merchant stalls set up by the entrance, and no one had really been visiting them, the people of the town just drifting through the streets without paying anything or anyone much mind. At one point in time, supposedly, it had been bright and alive with goods from around the world, people coming from all over to visit, a commercial hub to rival even the grandest of cities.

The Wellgrove from his memory had, quite sadly, been nothing but a shadow of its former self.

That certainly wasn’t the case now, however.

Everywhere he looked there were scores upon scores of people, and most of them were smiling. Some were definitely locals, but there were many who had clearly traveled from the Wildlands, the Harborlands, Hinoeuma, and even a few who looked like wealthy nobles from New Delsta. It was...kind of incredible, really, to see so much life in one place, to feel a buzzing excitement in the air.

And the reason for all of it?

Alrond’s Department Store.

He knew that commerce had the ability to affect great change—just look at what the silver trade and the steam engine had accomplished—but he certainly hadn’t been expecting anything like this.

The building was a massive thing, smack in the middle of town, and according to Partitio, there were even more shops now than there had been before. He could scarcely imagine how much work this must have taken. There was not a single bit of wasted space, and every store was packed with people and goods. The whole thing was just a little bit overwhelming, but in a good way—a way that made him actually want to look around, to see what all was available, even though he knew that he probably wouldn’t be buying anything, simply because there wasn’t really anything he needed right now.

Those pocket watches from Clockbank did look rather nice though.

“Did you really build all of this?” he asked Partitio, who was standing beside him along with Throné. Most of their party had immediately taken off upon entering: Castti had gone to buy herbs, Ochette was looking at a selection of meat with Agnea, Hikari was at the weapon shop, Osvald was perusing books, and Temenos had said something about quality parchment before disappearing into the crowd.

He was actually kind of surprised that Throné had decided not to wander off as well, although he did remember her telling Agnea back in Merry Hills that she didn’t much care for crowds. Perhaps that was the reason.

“No, not all of it,” said Partitio, looking both amused and proud at Crick’s question. “The buildin’ was already here, I just helped renovate it ‘n’ recruited all the merchants in town to help. It was somethin’ we all accomplished together, and look at it now! It’s even livelier than the day we opened. There’s nothin’ I like seein’ more than a whole place filled with smilin’ faces. Makes ya feel all warm inside, don’t it?”

The knight kind of had to agree with that. There really was something about seeing all of these people, many of them families, walking around and enjoying themselves that made him want to smile right along with them. It was heartening to see so much joy in one place. Surely Bifelgan was smiling too upon witnessing such a sight.

Partitio suddenly turned to him, and with a bright grin, he asked, “So, see anythin’ you might want? We’ve got plenty o’ time to browse, seein’ as we got here a little early.”

“I...I’m not sure,” he replied, looking around at all of the shops. “In all honesty, I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“Well, if you don’t feel like headin’ off on your own, you could always tag along with me ‘n’ Throné for a while,” the merchant suggested. “We’ve got a bit o’ shoppin’ to do and then an orphanage to visit. You’re more than welcome to join us for that part too if you’d like.”

“...Yes, alright,” he said after taking a moment to think about it, because again, it’s not like he really needed anything from the shops right now. Besides, it would be more fun to walk around with friends than by himself, and as far as visiting the orphanage went, he could admit to some curiosity about it from the last time Partitio had brought it up. Having nothing else to really do, he might as well tag along.

“Great, then let’s get started! First things first, candy.”

“Candy?”

“Of course! Can’t go visitin’ all those little ones without some kinda present, and most kids like sweets, so, candy. After that, we’ll take a look at the bookstore, then that place upstairs that looked like it was sellin’ toys, and maybe we can grab a few pocket watches for the older ones, think they might like that?”

“You’re really going all out with this, aren’t you,” said Throné, but it was hard to tell whether she was impressed by that or not. Her expression gave very little away. However, it was obvious just by the fact that she was joining him on this venture that the orphanage held some significance to her. He knew that, much like Temenos, Throné had a soft spot for kids, especially kids in poor situations, probably due in part to her own upbringing and lack of a real childhood. Perhaps the orphanage had something to do with the Blacksnakes, or at least did at some point? Maybe that’s why it mattered to her? If so, he didn’t know that part of her story. He wondered if she would be willing to tell it to him as they made their way there.

That was a thought for later though. First things first, they were apparently going to be buying presents for children.

“You bet I am,” said Partitio, sounding quite pleased with his idea. “Those kids’ve had it rough, and we don’t know yet if they were able to get the kinda fundin’ they needed. I want to do what I can for ‘em, bring just a little bit o’ joy. They’re kids after all—they deserve to have some fun. I know you agree with me.”

“I do. I wasn’t saying that it’s a bad thing, I was just surprised at your enthusiasm about it is all. Although in hindsight, I guess I had no reason to be. This is exactly the kind of thing you would do.”

“You say that like you weren’t plannin’ on doin’ the exact same thing yourself.”

“Not to this extent,” she replied, along with an eyeroll for good measure, although she quickly relented by adding, “but I’m sure it’ll make them happy. Why don’t we just get started, alright? Otherwise it’ll be dark before we reach the orphanage.”

“You got it! Let’s go find that candy then! I know I saw the shop with it on this floor somewhere...”

Crick couldn’t help but smile as he trailed after the merchant and thief, once again feeling fortunate that this was where he had ended up, traveling with all of these incredible people. They were all so passionate and kind in their own ways, caring about things that so many others might overlook, and he couldn’t help but feel proud to know them, to be able to call them his friends. The gods really had chosen well, each and every one of their champions. These people truly were capable of reshaping the world for the better.

And he was going to do everything he could to help.

Which, for the moment, meant picking out gifts for children. Definitely not something he had been expecting to do with his day, but it proved to be enjoyable nonetheless. He even caught Throné smiling as they looked through a selection of stuffed toys, to the point where he was tempted to ask her if she wanted one herself. He wasn’t sure how well that question would be taken, however, and so he held his tongue (even though he was pretty sure a certain cleric would have definitely asked). The stuffed bears in particular she seemed quite fond of.

After about an hour or so of shopping, the three of them left the department store, carrying quite a few bags in their arms. Partitio might have gone just a little overboard with his spending, but seeing as how it was for a good cause, there wasn’t much point in worrying about it. They certainly weren’t strapped for funds or anything, even if he didn’t quite know where they had managed to get so much money from. Partitio had mentioned working several odd jobs in order to save up enough leaves for their ship, so perhaps that had something to do with it. Selling off trinkets that they had collected throughout their travels had probably contributed to their funds as well. After all, there were plenty of valuable things lying around in old ruins, which this group had definitely seen their fair share of. They had pretty much traveled to every corner of Solistia, an accomplishment that was no small feat—and now, due to the fact that he was traveling with them, Crick was getting close to accomplishing that as well.

It was kind of a shame, really, that they hadn’t been able to spend just a bit more time in the Wildlands, which was one of the two regions he had never actually been to before (the other being Hinoeuma). He had simply never had any reason to travel through it, and so he hadn’t, which was rather unfortunate. While it had definitely been a lot warmer than what he was used to, what with its dry heat and scorching sun, Oresrush had been a pleasant town all things considered, small but full of people who clearly had a lot of love for the home they had built for themselves. He knew the story of course, how Roque and Partitio’s father, Papp, had purchased the land, gathered eager followers, and built up a town that became renowned for its silver mines and high-quality ore. It was impressive, really, just how much they had managed to do. They were certainly a resilient people, though he supposed that someone had to be resilient to make a life in such a baren place.

He wouldn’t mind visiting it again, should the opportunity arise. One night wasn’t nearly enough time to see all there was of a town.

Truth be told, Crick had never really thought of himself as much of a sightseer before, but he was starting to see the charm in it, so to speak. He was definitely looking forward to visiting Hinoeuma as well (even if the task required of them there was going to be a monumental one).

“Alright, I think we’re all set,” said Partitio as he shifted the bags in his arms to make sure he wouldn’t drop anything. “C’mon, let’s get goin’. Don’t wanna keep all o’ those kids waitin’.”

“It’s hard to keep someone waiting when they’re not expecting us,” said Throné.

Apparently that fact mattered little to Partitio, who was all smiles as they began making their way through the small forest south of Wellgrove, to where the orphanage apparently was. He wondered why it had been built so far away from the town, but then he remembered that it might have something to do with the Blacksnakes, and if that was the case, then of course it would be out of sight and out of mind. Couldn’t have the townsfolk becoming too nosy, after all.

Thankfully, while there were a few monsters roaming about, they didn’t seem all that interested in picking a fight. Perhaps they had gotten used to seeing people, being so close to a town and all. That meant that their trip through the forest was a peaceful one, and eventually he could see a building in the distance, surrounded by a brick wall. It was quite beautiful, the orphanage, and upon catching sight of just how large the grounds were, he couldn’t help but wonder if, rather than having been built as an orphanage from the beginning, it had actually once belonged to a noble family or something instead, a hidden getaway amidst flowers and greenery. Though it seemed quite old, it was impeccably maintained. Clearly someone had been taking very good care of it over the years.

As they began to approach the gate, which was unfortunately closed, he caught sight of movement in the front yard. It seemed that a few children were playing there, tossing around a small ball, something soft that probably wouldn’t break the windows were things to get a little out of hand. Despite looking as if they were in their own world, the four of them were quick to notice the strangers approaching, their expressions becoming undeniably wary, but the oldest one must have recognized either Throné or Partitio as his eyes suddenly widened, thankfully not with fear but with acknowledgement and curiosity.

“Oh, it’s you,” he said. “What brings you here?”

“We were hoping to speak with your father,” Throné told the boy. “Could you get him for us?”

This time there was definitely wariness on his face, but Partitio was quick to quell it.

“It’s not for anythin’ bad, promise,” he told the children. “We just wanna talk to him, plus we’ve got a little surprise to deliver for y’all, so can you tell him we’re here? Please?”

“A surprise? For us?”

“Yep! Straight from Alrond’s Department Store. I know you’re all gonna love it.”

All four sets of eyes widened, the wariness fading as anticipation took its place, and without any further prompting, they ran back to the house to inform their “father” that he had guests.

And while the three of them waited, Crick figured that he might as well ask.

“You said this place was an orphanage, but you asked them to get their father.” That was perhaps just a tiny bit confusing. “Is that simply how they refer to the man who runs it?”

“Not exactly,” said Throné. “It’s...complicated, just like everything is with the Blacksnakes.”

Ah, so the orphanage did have something to do with the Blacksnakes. His assumption had been right.

“The elderly guard who used to watch the gate decided that he wanted to look after the children here as their father,” she continued. “It’s still technically an orphanage, but I suppose it’s...more like a home for them now, or at least I hope that’s the case.”

Despite the indifference she had tried to feign while they were shopping, as well as her exasperation with some of Partitio’s purchases, it was becoming obvious to Crick that this did in fact matter to her. It mattered a great deal. She clearly wanted the kids here to be looked after. If what he had learned from her was indeed true, a lot of these children—maybe even all of them—were her half-siblings, and while she didn’t really have a desire for any sort of personal connection with them, she still seemed to care about them to some degree.

She truly was a good person, kind in her own way.

After another moment or two, the door to the house opened, and an elderly man with long gray hair and an equally long beard walked out and began making his way to the gates.

“Ah, so it was you,” he said with a smile as he undid the lock and allowed them to enter the grounds. “I had a feeling it might be when they told me ‘that woman and her friends’ had come to visit. Might I ask what brings you here? To be honest, I didn’t think you would want to return again.”

“We actually have a couple reasons for visiting,” she replied before motioning towards Partitio. “This one wanted to make sure that everything was going well.”

“Oh, c’mon now, Throné—I know you were curious ‘bout it too,” he remarked before giving the caretaker a bright smile. “But anyway, how’ve y’all been? We just happened to be makin’ a stop in Wellgrove on our way to Timberain, so I figured we should stop by ‘n’ see if things were workin’ out alright. I know the last time we talked, you were gonna see if the local monastery would be willin’ to help with the fundin’ for this place. Did that go okay?”

“It did,” he replied, his smile growing warmer. “All of us used to claim that Mother’s Garden was backed by the church in order to avoid suspicion, and so I was unsure how willing they would be to help us if they were to find out, but the monastery has been nothing but generous towards myself and the children, even sending several sisters to help with the chores and the young ones’ studies. They are all such strong, bright kids—some have even started to share with me what they would like to be once they grow up. As a father, I could not be prouder or more grateful for the kindness we’ve been shown.”

“That’s a relief,” said Partitio with a pleased-sounding sigh. “Glad they were able to lend a hand.”

The old man nodded in agreement, still smiling, before he looked over to Throné and told her, much to Crick’s surprise, “Do be sure to thank that cleric friend of yours for me, will you? The letter he wrote on our behalf was of great help to me.”

“You mean Temenos?” the knight asked, unable to help himself. It just kind of...slipped out, pulled forth by curiosity, because there was no one else that he could possibly be talking about. It had to be Temenos.

The elderly caretaker turned to him, looking just a touch amused, and patiently explained.

“Yes. You see, when I first decided to approach the church for aid, I was unsure of how to go about it. I’ve not had much experience when it comes to such things, having spent so many years apart from society. In truth, I struggled greatly with trying to figure out how to explain our situation in such a way where they would be sympathetic to our plight, considering this orphanage’s background, and so he offered to help write a letter that I could give to the monastery. My own writing leaves much to be desired, I’m afraid.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him,” said Throné. “He’ll be happy to know they listened.”

“Heh, that’s Temenos for you,” Partitio added with a smile. “Man’s got a way with words. He’d make a fine merchant.”

“I doubt he’s looking for a career change.”

“True enough. Oh, by the way, sir, we decided it might be nice to bring a few gifts for the kids, so...”

Crick only half paid attention to the rest of what Partitio was saying as the merchant began setting down his bags to show the old man what was inside. Instead, he found himself marveling at how, once again, Temenos had managed to catch him off guard with that carefully hidden kindness of his. He hadn’t been expecting to hear such a story, even though in hindsight it made perfect sense. The inquisitor liked to pretend that going out of his way was a bother, that he was flippant and didn’t particularly care about others—and yes, while sometimes it wasn’t an act, because he had very little tolerance for the people who tried his patience, most of the time he only behaved that way because it suited him. Or because he enjoyed teasing people. Or he simply found it amusing.

There were kind of a lot of justifications for his behavior (the cleric seemed to pride himself on being enigmatic), but the point was that he actually did care. Especially when it came to children. It really wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to do something like writing a letter to help an old man get the funding he needed for his orphanage. Crick knew that to be true now. He had gotten to know a lot about Temenos ever since that day in Stormhail, when the two of them had spoken about their motivations while standing together in the snow. He still wanted to learn more though, to understand him better, to catch more glimpses of that hidden kindness, to see even further behind the mask. Perhaps someday Temenos wouldn’t feel the need to wear one at all. Not with him, at least.

It was a pleasant thought, if nothing else.

An elbow to his side suddenly drew his attention, and he looked over to see Throné staring at him curiously. Immediately, he began to wonder just how long he had been standing there lost in thought. Hopefully not too long.

“Come on,” she said. “It’s time to drop off the presents and head back.”

“Oh, right.” He shifted the bags in his arms and then followed her towards the door to the house, to where Partitio and the elderly caretaker were already handing some of the gifts over to a couple of the older children who must have been called out to help.

“Is all this stuff really for us?” a boy who looked to be maybe ten or so asked, peering into one of the bags filled with candy.

“You bet it is!” the merchant replied. “I might’ve gotten a little carried away with it, but I figured you kids could use somethin’ fun. Not that studyin’ ain’t fun o’ course, but you know. Just wanted to do somethin’ nice for ya, that’s all.”

He was met with bright smiles as they began taking the bags inside. Crick set his own down as well, along with Throné, as the elderly caretaker turned to them all again.

“This really is quite generous,” he said. “I’m not sure how we can thank you.”

“You don’t gotta thank us, we were happy to do it. These kids’ve been through a lot, and I’m sure they’re all good kids too. They deserve to know that there are people out there who want the best for ‘em. Besides, folks should always help each other out whenever they can, right? That’s how the whole world becomes a happier, more prosperous place.”

The old man nodded, still with that pleasant smile on his face, before he gave his attention fully to Throné, his expression shifting (just a bit) into something that almost seemed a little sad.

“I know that if I ask you to come in and stay a while,” he told her, “even just for a cup of tea, you’ll refuse. For Mira’s sake. It’s true that she probably hasn’t forgiven you yet. Not completely, anyway.”

“That’s fine,” the former Blacksnake replied. “I’m not looking for forgiveness. I don’t regret killing Mother, and it’s alright if she hates me for it. That being said, there is something I...”

Her words trailed off for a moment as she reached down and opened a small pouch next to her dagger sheath, grabbing whatever was inside.

“There’s something I’d like you to give her,” she continued. “It’s for both of you, actually, and for anyone else here who might need it.”

“Oh?”

“Hold out your hand.”

He did as instructed, and she dropped a tiny key onto his palm. He looked at it curiously, and truth be told, Crick was a little confused about it as well. Throné’s countenance had changed into something more serious, a bit more grave, but those dark eyes of hers were certain and determined. This act was clearly significant, both for her and for the man.

“A key?” he questioned, and without hesitating, she told him exactly what it was.

“It’s the key to your collar. Yours, Mira’s, all of us. I’ve been holding on to it, but I don’t have a need for it anymore—I’m already free. So I figured it would be better off with you.”

The hand holding the key shook just for a second as his eyes widened, almost as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was holding, what Throné was giving away. They had brought plenty of presents for the children with them, but this one... This one was probably the most significant by far to those who understood, who were still—in some ways—bound.

Because Claude had been carrying the only key, and the only way to get that key had been to kill him. From what Crick had been told about their trip to Lostseed, the fight had been long and hard, especially for Throné, having had the truth of her life dumped on her in such a horrifying way, but she had emerged victorious in the end and had claimed that key and her freedom as the prize.

He wondered why she had held on to it, if perhaps this had always been her plan, to pass it on to those who were still chained, those who were trying in their own ways to break free and forge a different life for themselves just like she had. It was such a small gesture at its core, simply handing over a key, but one that carried an unbelievable amount of weight if the gratitude he could see on that weathered face was any indication. It was beyond words, that look, as he thanked her for the gift.

“You don’t have to thank me,” she responded. “Just be a good father to these kids, alright? The kind that none of us ever got to have.”

“I give you my word. I want nothing more than to look after them and ensure they grow up to live long, fulfilling lives.”

“Good. You really are a kind man. Take care, alright?”

“And you as well. Be safe on your travels.”

After just a couple more parting words, the three of them left the orphanage and began to make their way back towards town, and all the while, Crick couldn’t help but mull over everything he had learned in just a single interaction.

Throné was incredible. He had known that already, of course, but this whole experience had only proven that fact even more. She really was a good person, someone who cared about others, who despite claiming that all of her half-siblings weren’t actually “family” was still willing to help them when an opportunity arose—at least when it came to the ones who were trying to live honest, free lives.

He hoped that the church would continue to offer their support so that all of those children could grow up happy, so that they would never have a reason to turn to thievery again, whether by force or by choice. He knew what that was like and had chosen to reject it, to carve his own path just like Throné was doing now. She had gone through hell and back to earn her freedom. She had even gone through hell just while growing up. No child should ever have to spill blood, and yet that had been her entire life. She never got to have presents delivered, toys to play with, or even a parent who was dedicated to ensuring that she was happy. At least for a little while in his life, Crick had been able to have some of those things. It didn’t seem fair to him that she hadn’t.

He wondered if she would want any of it now. For some things, it was unfortunately too late, but...maybe...

(Crick thought back to their trip through the department store and remembered that soft smile he had seen).

...Maybe it wasn’t too late for all of it.

In hindsight, perhaps he should have thought this through a little more. Apparently he was still a bit too hasty when it came to some of his decision making, while other times he wasn’t decisive enough. Right now he was trapped somewhere between the two.

Honestly, what was he even doing? This was probably a stupid idea. It was quite possibly a very stupid idea—in fact, there was nothing even remotely practical about it all—and yet for some reason Crick still found himself back at the department store with a handful of leaves, looking at stuffed animals of all things. He probably made for quite the sight.

Seriously, what was he doing? It was getting late, the shops would all be closing in the next hour, and here he was loitering about and being extremely indecisive. Thankfully the merchant running the shop had chosen to leave him be, even though he could feel her staring at him occasionally in between helping other customers. He wondered if she was perhaps becoming irritated with him, or maybe she was just amused by his behavior.

And, speaking of someone who was often amused by his behavior, it wasn’t long before a familiar, lilting voice suddenly came from behind him.

“You know, out of all the shops in this department store, this is honestly the last one I expected to find you in.”

Temenos. Of course it would be Temenos. That was just how these things went.

The knight told himself that there was no reason to feel embarrassed, that there was nothing wrong with what he was doing, even if a part of him still felt like this was a stupid idea, one born purely from a whim, from a simple observation that he might not even be interpreting correctly. He wasn’t good at reading people, at least most of the time, but he was pretty sure there had been a touch of longing in Throné’s gaze earlier while she was in the store, looking at the stuffed toys, and why else would she have stood there and stared for so long if a part of her hadn’t wanted one?

But the question was, would she appreciate one? Just because a person wanted something didn’t necessarily mean that they, well, wanted it. She might think that such a thing was too childish for her now. Perhaps what he had seen had been simple nostalgia and not longing. Perhaps she only liked looking at cute things.

Maybe Temenos would know.

“Just what are you doing, little lamb?” the inquisitor asked as he moved forward, coming to stand beside him in front of the display of stuffed animals. “Surely you are not shopping for yourself? Not that I would judge you if you were.”

“No,” he replied, again doing his best not to give in to embarrassment, because there was definitely a teasing grin on the cleric’s face. He probably already knew that Crick was not here for himself, but it wasn’t in his nature to pass up a chance to poke at people (especially his Godsblade). “I was just...um...”

“Yes?”

The knight breathed a deep sigh, attempted to gather his thoughts, and then decided that it would probably be best to just start at the beginning. Fortunately, it was a rather short story.

“When I was shopping with Partitio and Throné today to pick out gifts for the orphanage, I noticed that Throné was...staring at these. Maybe I was just seeing things, or perhaps I read her wrong, but...it kind of looked like she wanted one. So I just thought that...”

“That it might be nice to get her one?” Temenos finished for him. “Because she isn’t the type who would ever buy one for herself?”

“Yes.” That was it exactly. “But I don’t know if she would actually want that. She may see it as too childish. Plus, we are in the middle of a journey across the continent right now, and anything we buy we have to carry with us. We won’t be returning to our ship anytime soon. Something like this... It wouldn’t be practical.”

He was met with a short, muffled laugh before Temenos said, “I can assure you that, aside from Castti and myself, very little of what was purchased today was ‘practical.’ There was certainly nothing practical about that stack of books that Osvald found, or the two new kettles that Agnea bought, or the fancy curing salts that both she and Ochette were talked into purchasing, and all of that will be getting dragged across the continent with us. I fail to see how a stuffed bear would be a problem.”

“But those things are still useful, while this is just...”

“Frivolous?”

He nodded, which earned him a sigh from the inquisitor, and he watched as Temenos moved forward towards the shelves and grabbed the exact bear that Throné had been looking at earlier. He peered at it thoughtfully, but aside from the consideration in his gaze, Crick wasn’t able to read anything else. He was tempted to ask what his thoughts on the matter were, but before he could, the cleric offered them up himself.

“Throné adores animals, as well as anything that is soft and cute. She eventually stopped trying to pretend otherwise around us, even if she does occasionally get embarrassed about it from time to time. I am sure that is the reason she was staring at these, as well as the simple fact that she never got to have things like this while growing up. It is rather unfair, isn’t it? I imagine that shopping for toys must have made her quite nostalgic.”

“So it was just nostalgia then...”

“No, not at all. It was probably exactly as you thought, the longing of a young woman who may be quite sharp on the outside but is actually quite soft within. And there is certainly nothing wrong with that. I have often wondered why people seem to think that their likes and dislikes reflect their maturity, when in reality it has nothing to do with being ‘mature.’ Honestly, what point is there in pretending to be something you’re not, at least in that regard?”

...Huh. It took him a moment to pick out exactly what the inquisitor was saying, because far be it for Temenos to just say exactly what he meant, but as soon as the knight found it, he immediately became hopeful.

“So you don’t think she would see it as childish?” he asked, only to watch as an amused smirk crossed that previously very thoughtful face.

“Oh, she definitely will,” the cleric replied, “but not in a bad way. In fact, I am certain it would make her quite happy, though I doubt she would ever say as much.”

Crick tried not to smile at that, remembering how Throné had said the same thing about Temenos once, back when the two of them had been making breakfast together aboard the Grand Terry. They really did know each other well, didn’t they?

And if Temenos thought it was a good idea, then...

“Perhaps I should buy one for her.”

“You should. I think she’ll love it.”

The inquisitor turned to him and handed over the bear, his smirk from earlier becoming a genuine smile, the kind he wore when he was pleased by something, when words or actions actually managed to reach him to the point where he could no longer feign indifference.

Crick rather liked that look (especially when he was responsible for putting it there).

“Thanks, Temenos,” he said as he took the stuffed animal, certain now that this was what he wanted to do.

“Think nothing of it, little lamb,” the cleric replied. “This is a kind gesture, one that I probably never would have considered myself. It is also a deserved one. I am certain it will be a very pleasant surprise—and speaking of which, I have an excellent idea...”

“Oh?” Something told him he might regret this, but... “And what might that be?”

...Later that evening, after returning from the department store, eating a late dinner, and then retiring to his room with Temenos where they began to put the finishing touches on their paperwork (it turned out that the reason Temenos had been looking for quality parchment earlier was for the final draft of his proposal), a series of short, loud, but insistent knocks suddenly sounded against their door.

The knight looked up, then over at the inquisitor—who was in the middle of writing something and showed absolutely no signs whatsoever of caring that someone was at the door—before breathing a short sigh and getting up to see who it was.

Even though he was pretty sure he already knew who it was.

Temenos’s “idea” had been a simple one: leave the bear on Throné’s bed with no indication of who had put it there. Let it be an actual surprise in every sense, rather than just placing it in a bag and handing it to her directly.

There was no way she hadn’t found it by now. She would have seen it immediately upon entering her room.

Throné was definitely on the other side of that door.

Taking a deep breath, Crick reached for the handle and cautiously pulled open the door—

And immediately found a fluffy brown teddy bear with a purple ribbon around its neck being shoved in his face. Behind said bear was indeed Throné, wearing an expression that he had honestly never seen on her before. He couldn’t...quite tell if it was a good expression or not though. There was something very close to an accusation in those dark eyes of hers but without any real heat, and while the line of her mouth was definitely curved downward, it didn’t appear to be a frown.

He wasn’t sure what to make of it, really.

“Is this your doing?” she asked, in a tone that was somehow both questioning and certain at the same time. It really did feel like he was being accused.

He had never been good at this sort of thing.

“Uh...”

Fortunately, his current “partner in crime” so to speak (even though random acts of kindness weren’t crimes) came to his rescue.

“Technically we are both responsible,” said Temenos from his place at the table, not even looking up from his writing, “though the idea was Crick’s.”

Throné was definitely glaring at him now, but again, there was no real heat behind it. In fact, if he didn’t know any better, he might be tempted to say that she looked a little embarrassed, but that couldn’t be right.

Having received an answer to her question, the thief lowered her arms and drew them back until she was holding the bear against her chest. He could see her right hand moving, just a bit, as she ran her fingers absentmindedly over one soft ear.

“Why?” she asked him, sounding confused but thankfully not irritated. He was going to take that as a good thing.

“Because I saw you looking at it earlier,” he replied as he rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously, unable to stop himself from feeling nervous under that sharp gaze. “I just thought that...maybe you might like to have it.”

Gods, that stare of hers really was piercing, wasn’t it? It felt like she was trying to pull him apart with her eyes alone, looking for something that she couldn’t quite find. He wondered what was going through her head right now, if she was upset, embarrassed, bemused, if she thought the whole thing was childish after all and couldn’t for the life of her figure out why he would do such a thing. That deadpan look of hers was nerve-racking. He wished that she would just say something, put him out of his misery.

It was Temenos who came to his rescue again.

“Do you dislike your present, Throné?” he asked, in a tone that subtly implied he already knew the answer.

She clutched the bear a little tighter to her chest.

“No.”

Oh, thank the gods...

Crick released a breath that he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding, grateful beyond words that he hadn’t made a complete fool of himself with this endeavor. His hunch had been right after all.

“Good,” he told her, fully aware that his relief was palpable in his voice. “I’m glad you like it.”

She didn’t say anything, but she did avert her gaze, looking off towards the wall. Much like Temenos, she always seemed so unflappable, but there was definitely a sort of...awkward air about her as she stood there, as if she couldn’t quite decide how to reply. He hadn’t thought that his simple gesture, his desire to be a good friend, would catch her so completely off guard.

He was tempted to say something more, but he didn’t know what. Perhaps it would be better to simply bid her goodnight, or maybe assure her that there were no strings attached to her gift, that he had just wanted to do something nice? They were friends after all, right?

Behind him, he heard a very soft chuckle, followed by words spoken in a tone that was absolutely used when dealing with small children, chiding them (albeit gently) for not doing as they should.

“Come now, Throné, what do we say? You know it’s only polite.”

The thief snapped her head up, and this time there was definitely heat in her glare, enough to set the entire room on fire. Or just a particularly irksome cleric. Honestly, Crick almost dropped his own head into his hands out of sheer exasperation with the man behind him, but knowing that would only amuse the inquisitor more, he forced himself to refrain. It was a very near thing though.

Eventually Throné breathed a sigh, schooled her expression back into its normal state of calm, and upon giving him her full attention, she quite simply told him, “Thanks.”

He then watched as her lips curled upwards, just a bit, her eyes glinting as she added, sounding far more like herself, “I guess I don’t mind having another little brother.”

The knight simply blinked at her for a second before asking, “Little brother?” at the same time that a deep, aggravated sigh came from the table.

“Really, Throné?”

A breath of laughter escaped her before she offered Crick a small wave, bid him goodnight, and then took off down the hall, looking quite happy all things considered. Whether it was due to the stuffed bear in her arms or her victorious parting jab, he wasn’t sure, but regardless, he figured that he could count that as a success. All he had wanted was to make her happy, after all.

He closed the door and gave his attention to Temenos.

To the man’s credit, he did look appropriately chastened.

“I suppose I deserved that,” he muttered as he continued working on his document (the amount of focus he had was kind of amazing, having continued his writing throughout that entire conversation). “And before you ask, no, I have no desire to explain it to you.”

That was just fine, because he was pretty sure he knew what she had meant just by the cleric’s reaction to her words. Clearly he didn’t much care to be referred to as a “little” brother by someone who was younger than him, but it was just the kind of thing that Throné would do. They really did feel like siblings, the two of them, and it was kind of nice to know that he wasn’t the only one who thought so, that he wasn’t just imagining the connection, although he certainly hadn’t thought that he would be thrown into that category as well.

The warmth that spread throughout his chest from such a sentiment was starting to become a familiar thing, and along with it came the realization that he really did have a place here, that he wasn’t just tagging along. It had become something so much more than that.

He might not have been chosen by a god, but...that didn’t mean he couldn’t belong.

And it would seem that Temenos agreed.

“I must admit, it is quite a relief to see just how well you get along with the others,” the cleric began, having regained his composure. “When you first expressed a desire to travel with us, I was perhaps a bit...concerned that you might have trouble looking past the fact that we were all blessed by the gods, considering how devout you are. But it seems that I needn’t have worried. You are quite adaptable, my dear Godsblade.”

He could feel a smile tugging at his face as he replied, “I fear I have no choice but to be with someone like you as my charge.”

That earned him a huff, though he was pretty sure the exasperation was just for show.

“And here I was giving you an actual compliment,” the inquisitor said, “but I suppose it’s only fair. I am actually rather impressed—you have done quite well keeping up with me, though in truth, you always have to an extent. What is perhaps equally as impressive is that you have also managed to keep up with the others, which is certainly no easy feat. We are a rather colorful bunch, after all.”

“I’ve enjoyed getting to know everyone,” he replied as he sat down at the table, picking up his pen once more so that he could get back to work. “They are all good people. Perhaps I shouldn’t say this considering just how much you have all been through on your journey, but...I’ve been having fun, traveling with all of you.”

Sure, some parts had definitely been harrowing, some even making him feel like his heart might just stop, but amidst the danger and the occasional bouts of breathtaking fear, he had truly been enjoying himself. Traveling across Solistia, seeing new things, learning more about the world—all of it was amazing, an irreplaceable experience, one that he never would have gotten to have if things hadn’t turned out the way they did. Gratitude didn’t even begin to describe it.

But the thing he was the most grateful for? It was the people he was with, the way they had all just accepted him, welcoming him among them as if such a thing was completely natural, treating him like a friend from the start.

How could he possibly ask for anything more?

A small smile spread across Temenos’s face upon hearing those words, the same soft, genuine one from earlier.

“Good,” he said quietly, his pen still moving across the paper, the sound of it a familiar thing after so many evenings spent like this. “That’s good.”

He said nothing more on the matter, but that quiet, contented look didn’t abate. He simply sat there at the table, looking oddly at peace, as he continued to work.

...Crick should get back to work too. He was supposed to be helping, after all. The proposal, their supporting documents, the reports, all of it was nearly done. They would be arriving in Timberain within the next few days, and once the kingdom was safe from Trousseau and his poison rain, it would be time for them to find their “young but very meticulous” judge. Slowly but surely, everything was falling into place: the trial, the future, his life.

He stole one last glance at Temenos and found that a smile was starting to cross his own face as well, a feeling of contentment washing over him as he reflected upon his day.

Spending time with friends, giving presents to those children, doing something kind for a woman who had called him a little brother...

And finally, sitting together quietly, in peace, with someone who had come to mean a great deal to him, someone that he would do just about anything for.

Helping somebody that he cared about... Surely there was no greater joy than that. Truly, he couldn’t ask for anything more.

He really was content.

And so Crick put his pen to paper and got back to work.

Chapter Text

“Osvald, I am beginning to think that this particular endeavor might be pointless. We have been at this for almost two weeks now, and I have made no progress whatsoever on learning Alephan’s Wisdom. The divine skill of the Scholarking may very well be beyond my capabilities when it comes to magic.”

“You simply need to practice more.”

“So you say, but it could also be that only a chosen scholar like yourself is capable of mastering it.”

“Don’t be absurd. We wouldn’t have such detailed records of the third tier of spells if only those ‘chosen’ by Alephan were capable of using his enchantment. Anyone with a sufficient talent for magic can learn it, and so there’s no reason why you shouldn’t be able to.”

...Well. His current frustration aside, that was a rather nice compliment. Temenos had learned to take those whenever he could, seeing as how Osvald was not the type to hand them out casually. Unlike himself, their resident scholar was someone who always said exactly what he meant, seeing absolutely no point in putting on airs or beating around the bush. He was direct, precise, and a little bit ruthless, though not without a touch of snark that had definitely been popping up more and more as of late. Not a bad thing at all, really. Throné had once told the scholar that there was charm in that straightforward sincerity of his. Sincerity in general was a rather endearing trait.

But that was neither here nor there. At the moment, Temenos found it rather difficult to revel in compliments when he could not for the life of him figure out why he was unable to cast Alephan’s Wisdom, the spell that would allow him to use the strongest version of Heavenly Shine that there was. In theory, mind you. Advanced Magic had certainly worked, but there was no guarantee that Alephan’s Wisdom would. While they could of course test it by having Osvald cast the enchantment on him instead, there was little point in doing so right now, because he couldn’t exactly use his spell while they were traveling through the Leaflands. The foliage was too thick, and since Heavenly Shine was indiscriminate rather than targeted, he would have no way to tell if there were innocent people or animals within his range. He could end up hurting (or more likely killing) someone if he wasn’t careful, and that was the last thing he wanted.

Better to wait until they were traveling through Hinoeuma to resume his actual practicing, where the vast expanse of sand would allow him to easily tell if there was anything or anyone in his way. The trek to Ku was going to be a long one, and so he would have plenty of time to experiment then. For now, he was limited to simply going over the basics and attempting to learn Alephan’s Wisdom, which wasn’t going particularly well. He really was starting to believe that such a spell was simply beyond him, even though he understood the basics well enough. It was just a more powerful version of Advanced Magic, that was all. However, he had yet to successfully cast it on himself even once.

It didn’t make any sense. If Osvald was to be believed, then being chosen wasn’t a requirement, because yes, there was a significant amount of detail when it came to the highest tier of spells, and the odds were that none of those people had actually been “blessed” by the Scholarking in the way that Osvald was. The gods did not go around blessing people on a whim, after all (though given Alephan’s desire for knowledge and his support of those who tirelessly sought it—according to the scripture, anyway—if there was a god who had decided to go around blessing people on a whim, it would definitely be him).

“If you would like to stop for today, we can return to camp,” Osvald offered, though not without a slight sigh in his tone, because he clearly believed that Temenos was being petulant about this. And to be fair, he was—he could admit to it—because up until this point he’d had fairly good success with everything magical that he had tried. This was the first time where he felt well and truly stumped by a spell, despite having spent almost two weeks attempting to learn it. Clearly he was missing something, some integral but probably simple piece to make it work. Unfortunately, Osvald had been of little help in that regard, having mastered the enchantment easily. He couldn’t really provide that many pointers aside from the obvious.

“You need to master the fundamental basics for the three primary spells, which you already have despite the fact that you rarely use them. The rest should just come naturally with practice.”

The “primary spells,” so to speak, were the basic spells for fire, ice, and lightning. They were named as such due to the fact that they were the easiest to understand and master. Temenos had technically learned all of them over the course of his journey, just in case he would ever have need of them in the future. Plus, there had been many a night during their travels where he’d had nothing better to do, and while Osvald had not been quite as approachable or friendly back then (not that such a thing had ever stopped any of them from engaging him), he’d at least been willing to provide some pointers as well as notes about the different spells and how to go about drawing out their power. At that point, Temenos hadn’t fully understood the concept. Light magic was technically rooted in faith and the Sacred Flame, which obviously wasn’t true when it came to the other elements. Understanding the source of a particular type of magic was paramount to wielding it.

Perhaps that was true for a spell such as Alephan’s Wisdom as well.

Regardless, he probably wasn’t going to be making any more progress at the moment. While it wasn’t quite time for breakfast to be ready—Agnea had only just been waking up when he and Osvald had left the camp—they might as well head back. Clearly he needed to do a bit more studying. And perhaps, during the remainder of their trip to Timberain, he could review some of the other spells as well, make sure he still remembered how to use them. He normally just stuck to light magic because it felt more natural to him, because that was where his magical affinity lay. Just like how Osvald, despite having dabbled in all of the elements, usually stuck to casting the primary three during battle—same with Agnea and her wind, and Throné with her dark magic. Most people usually gravitated towards some or even just one over the others. That was simply how people were. Some sources were easier to understand and tap into for a person, that was all.

Though, Temenos would hesitate to say that he actually “understood” the Sacred Flame as a source. His faith in general had always been a complicated thing, waxing and waning throughout his life—and yet at the same time he had always had a gift for holy magic, both when it came to healing and light. Strange how things like that could sometimes work. Perhaps faith that was placed sparingly and carefully, honed by doubt, was more powerful? Or perhaps the faith he had in himself (and tentatively in the gods) was enough?

He didn’t know. He was also pretty sure that “knowing” wouldn’t change anything. It certainly wouldn’t help when it came to what he was currently trying (and failing) to do.

He had to be missing something. That was the only explanation. Despite his complaining, he did not want to believe that he simply couldn’t use such a powerful spell. According to Osvald, he should be able to learn it, and yet he was struggling. He would definitely be going back through all of his notes later, that was for sure.

“Perhaps returning would be best for now,” he said. “I wish to review what I’ve learned thus far and take some time to think on the matter. I have no intention of giving up on this, especially since you believe that it should be possible for me to cast it, but clearly I am having trouble grasping what is necessary for it to work.”

Saying that he wouldn’t give up seemed to placate Osvald, removing the hints of irritation from his expression. The man had no patience for complaining, but when it came to learning magic—or learning anything, for that matter—he might very well be the most patient man alive. He was methodical and observant with a level of focus that was enviable at times, and if someone genuinely wanted to learn something from him, he would dedicate as much as he could to ensuring their success. Provided it was something feasible, of course. He certainly had no trouble mercilessly shooting down ideas that were ridiculous (which Ochette in particular seemed to have a habit of suggesting).

Temenos wondered if the scholar would ever return to teaching, once this was all over. Perhaps he would dedicate himself solely to his research instead. Or simply teach his daughter. A combination of all three wouldn’t be bad either.

The inquisitor was definitely starting to see the appeal of magical research. It was quite a fascinating and rewarding endeavor. He certainly wouldn’t mind dedicating some of his own time to it in the future, perhaps in conjuncture with the research he wanted to do regarding the scripture, seeing as how he was starting to believe that a lot of it might not be merely hyperbole after all, that there was perhaps more truth hidden within those old stories than he had originally thought. Reading back through it all with a new perspective and a clearer head might do him some good, and perhaps if he chose to take notes about it, document his thoughts as well as what he had learned on his travels, maybe it might one day do somebody else some good as well.

But those were thoughts for another time. His plate was full enough already. First things first, he needed to figure out why he couldn’t cast Alephan’s Wisdom, and once he got that sorted out, he could move on from there. In addition to that, they were currently only a day out from Timberain. They would be arriving tomorrow morning, on the dawn of the crown prince’s coronation, and while it was hard to tell at the moment what the weather was going to be like, they were all operating under the assumption that it wouldn’t be in their favor. Best to prepare for the worst in these sorts of situations. No one wanted to end up going in unprepared when hundreds of lives were on the line.

Castti still wasn’t sure about her antidote, aside from the snowdrops, which meant that if they weren’t able to locate Trousseau within the city, they might all be in for a lot of trouble if it did start to rain. There were so many variables to consider, but they couldn’t formulate a plan until they actually reached the city, walked its streets, and saw the situation they would be dealing with for themselves.

(It wasn’t that different to how they usually did things, really).

Hopefully it would all work out. Hopefully not a single life would be lost. It was probably foolish to believe that they could make it out of this without a single casualty—a single innocent casualty, at least—but he wanted to hold out hope for such a thing nonetheless.

After all, Castti wasn’t in the habit of letting people die, not when there was something she could do to prevent it. Her dedication to her creed was a very real thing. She definitely had what it took to save an entire kingdom. Under her care, Timberain would not fall.

No matter what she had to do to save it.

...How long had it been since he had last set foot in this part of the world?

Too long, and yet at the same time not nearly long enough.

As he stood there at the entrance to what was arguably the largest city on the western continent (its only competition would be the kingdom of Ku, whose size was difficult to measure due to its relative isolation from the other regions), Crick found himself marveling at how, unlike Wellgrove, Timberain was still exactly how he remembered it, for better or worse. It was still lavish, still beautiful as a picture, still with that almost pompous, superior air that he had grown to dislike over the years. While he certainly wouldn’t label all nobles as inconsiderate and self-entitled, many of them unfortunately were, but at the very least it seemed to be a bit...less so than what he remembered. There were definitely a lot more commoners walking around, many even mingling with the nobility, and he had to wonder if that was how Timberain usually was now, if the division in status had actually changed, or if it was simply because of the coronation that was about to take place. Perhaps the festivities had put everyone in a pleasant, much more generous mood.

A shame that one man was about to ruin it for them.

Seriously, how were they meant to find Trousseau amongst all this? There were people everywhere, from all across Solistia, and all of them were completely unaware of the danger lurking just out of sight. Because unfortunately, luck had not been on their side this time. The air was heavy, and there were rain clouds gathering. A part of him wondered if rain would be enough to postpone the celebrations, if that alone could convince everyone to get off the streets and seek shelter, but somehow he very much doubted it. And besides, once the rain began falling, it could very well be too late. He wasn’t sure how quickly the poison would spread, how quickly the water and air would become infected. They needed to get everyone to safety before then.

But how?

“We should look around and get a feel for the city,” suggested Throné. “Unfortunately, there’s not much we can really do right now about evacuating—I doubt these people will listen to a bunch of strangers like us.”

“I suppose you’re right,” agreed Castti. “Let’s learn our way around and keep an eye out for any buildings that could shelter a lot of people safely. We might end up having to get everyone off the streets in a hurry.”

“The inn would obviously be a suitable location,” said Temenos. “As would the courthouse. Quite a lot of people should be able to seek shelter in there.”

Crick wondered if some of the nobility would be willing to open their doors as well when it came to all of the visitors who had arrived for the coronation. That would be another option. For now, however, getting a feel for the town was the most important thing, as well as figuring out the logistics of how they were going to get everyone off the streets and out of the rain. Because Throné was right—no one was going to listen to them. They had no power or influence within the kingdom, and the story of calamity they came bearing, whilst true, was not very believable. Not without some kind of proof.

How were they meant to do this? How could they save all of these people? Surely it had to be possible. Surely there must be some way to—

“If you continue to just stand there, little lamb, you are going to be left behind.”

“What?”

He looked over to where Temenos’s voice had come from, and sure enough, everyone was beginning to make their way further into the city. He quickly pulled himself from his thoughts and caught up with the inquisitor, the two of them trailing a little behind as they walked up one of the many sets of stairs that connected to the upper streets.

The inn was over that way, if memory served. He wondered if there would be any rooms available. Given the vast number of people who had made the journey for the coronation, he somehow doubted it.

“So, my dear Godsblade,” began Temenos, his tone casual as he started a conversation, “is Timberain exactly as you remember it?”

“I wouldn’t say exactly,” he replied. “It still looks the same, but it does feel a bit different from when I was...”

The knight froze, his eyes widening as he realized what he had just said—or more importantly what Temenos had just said. His question had been spoken so plainly that Crick hadn’t thought anything of it, had answered it without even thinking, but in reality it didn’t make any sense, because not once had he told the inquisitor that he had been to Timberain before. He had barely mentioned anything about his life before joining the Sacred Guard at all. Sure, he had told him about being born a noble, about his family falling from grace, about what had brought him to the Order, but that was it. Nothing more.

So then what had made him believe that Crick was familiar with Timberain? That question was a probing one, he could recognize those now (even though he had still thoroughly fallen into the inquisitor’s trap), but it did make him wonder just how much his friend knew. How did he manage to work it out? That look on his face was borderline smug, which meant that perhaps he hadn’t been a hundred percent sure but that Crick had more or less just confirmed it for him.

But again, how did he figure it out when he had been given so little to go off of?

“How...” he began, hesitating just a little. While he wasn’t exactly opposed to talking about it, this was something that he just didn’t talk about. Not even Ort knew the full story. “How did you know that I’m...?”

“That you are from here, or at least from this general area?” the cleric finished, confirming that he did in fact know. There was a smile on his face, though not as sharp as usual, as he said, “By process of elimination, Crick.”

Temenos then began to show him once again why he made for such an exceptional inquisitor.

“Seeing as how you were born into a noble family, that means you could not hail from the Wildlands or the Harborlands, as they have no established nobility present. Toto’haha is also out of the question, and you obviously aren’t from Hinoeuma either. While the Brightlands, the Crestlands, and the Winterlands all have some noble families, I was able to rule them out rather quickly. The Winterlands have very few nobles and most are related to the Glenville line, which you clearly aren’t, and if you had been from the Crestlands, then you would have already known where the cathedral was and would not have required a guide to find it. As for the Brightlands, well... Do forgive me for saying this, but...you do not strike me as someone who would have grown up in an industrialized city. I doubt you would have turned out anywhere near as innocent or naïve if you had.”

Fair enough, even though he did take some offense at being called naïve once again, despite the fact that it was true to some extent. Hopefully it wasn’t quite as true anymore though; he had been working on becoming more aware, after all, on not being blinded by the idealism he still wanted to hold on to. There was nothing wrong with having faith in a brighter future—he firmly believed that—but approaching everything with a bit more caution, a bit more understanding, would definitely be the better choice. The last thing he wanted was a repeat of Stormhail.

“And so that led you to the Leaflands?” he asked the inquisitor, despite already knowing the answer, which earned him a rather pleased, knowing grin from the inquisitor.

“Precisely. And in the Leaflands, Timberain made the most sense. While Wellgrove was certainly a possibility as well, Timberain has the bigger collection of noble families. So, I decided to go with Timberain as my guess, which you just now confirmed for me. Yet another mystery solved.”

“You could have just asked me. I would have told you.” He didn’t really have any reason to hide it, not from Temenos at least. Just because he didn’t like talking about his childhood, that didn’t mean he would refuse to answer questions about where he was from.

“Now where’s the fun in that?” the inquisitor asked, this time with amusement in his tone. “I much preferred trying to figure it out for myself. Despite what you may believe, I do not actually enjoy interrogating my friends. Many of us have things we would rather not speak of. I had assumed that your life prior to meeting Roi and joining the church fell into that category.”

“It does, for the most part,” he agreed, because he had no real reason to lie about that fact. “But it’s not as if I am actively choosing to hide it. I simply don’t speak about it is all. There is little point in dwelling on something I grew to hate, and I certainly don’t miss the life I had before.”

“You don’t miss living as a noble?”

“No.” Not anymore, at least. He had, in the beginning. He had missed the big house, the nice warm bed, the books, the trinkets, being able to ask the cooks to make his favorite foods for him whenever he wanted. More than anything though, he had missed the kindness he had once been treated with, the stability of having people around who genuinely cared about him—or at least he assumed that his parents had cared about him anyway, that he hadn’t always been seen as a mere tool to further their success. He supposed that it didn’t much matter anymore. He had put all of that behind him, had chosen to leave home in order to do something good with his life, and after floundering for so many years, he had finally found a place where he felt like he belonged.

A place that he wanted to belong. His old life was nothing compared to that.

He had no regrets. He would gladly choose what he had now over what he could’ve had as a noble no matter how many times he was asked.

“Well, I suppose that’s for the best,” said Temenos. “While you certainly are noble, I find it hard to picture you as some sort of pampered aristocrat, especially since you seem to care so much about the wellbeing of others.”

“Not all nobles are self-centered, Temenos.” Alrond was certainly a fine example of that. He clearly cared a great deal about his town and about the happiness of others given his recent actions. It was unfortunate that the nobles who didn’t care about such things were the ones most likely to stick in people’s minds.

“True enough,” the inquisitor agreed. “I suppose I could see you as being an altruistic one. I much rather prefer you as a knight, however. It suits you better, in my opinion.”

“I...” What was he even supposed to say to that? It was a compliment, surely, and one that had him feeling a little warm, but he genuinely wasn’t sure how to respond aside from a tentative, “Thank you?”

The smile it earned him was definitely an amused one.

After that, there was little time for conversation as the nine of them began looking around the city in earnest, inspecting the size and exterior of the buildings (most of the windows thankfully had panes of glass in them as well as shutters, which would help immensely with keeping the poison air out). Eventually, they all split up into groups to cover more ground, knowing that they had an indeterminable amount of time to work with. Once it started raining, that was it, and so before that could happen, they either needed to evacuate the streets or find Trousseau. Neither option was likely.

Honestly, what were they supposed to do? This was starting to feel like an impossible task. How could they possibly protect hundreds of people from the rain of all things?

They needed a miracle.

Fortunately, said miracle manifested itself in the form of a rather gruff-looking soldier by the name of Edmund, who was either a friend or at least an acquaintance of Castti’s. Apparently she had run into him while walking through the town and had simply told him the reason she was in Timberain. And he had believed her, no questions asked.

Better yet, he volunteered both himself and his men to help with the evacuation and had even come up with a plan that could very well get everyone off of the streets and out of the soon-to-be-falling rain. All they had to do was convince the soldiers of Timberain (who were unfortunately getting themselves rather drunk at the tavern) to help out.

Crick prayed they would be successful. The future of the kingdom was hinging on their success.

“Is Edmund a soldier from Timberain as well?” he asked Temenos as most of them stood outside of the establishment, due in part to how crowded it was within. Better to let Castti and Edmund handle things. Sometimes more people only complicated matters.

“At one point in time, yes,” the inquisitor replied. “He eventually grew tired with the way the kingdom was treating those it deemed as ‘outsiders’ and chose to fight on behalf of Sai instead. He was...quite abrasive when we first met him, yelling at his men while they lay bleeding. Fortunately, Castti put a stop to that. Her actions actually helped bring an end to the fighting between Timberain and Sai entirely, and so you could say that both sides owe her a debt. One that I hope they will choose to repay in order to save this kingdom. The people as well as the royal family will listen to their soldiers, who are tasked with keeping them all safe. I pray that will be the case, anyway.”

Fortunately, it seemed that Castti’s prior actions, not to mention her sincerity and determination, carried a significant amount of weight. All it took was for the soldiers’ captain to step up, someone that the apothecary had personally saved, and explain the role she had played in their final skirmish with Sai—and just like that, they suddenly had an entire army of people on their side.

An army that wasted absolutely no time informing the royal family that there was about to be an attack on the coronation.

Needless to say, they were none too happy about having to postpone the festivities, but when weighed against the safety of themselves, their citizens, and the countless guests that had been invited, the choice was obvious.

It began to rain just as the announcement was made and the soldiers started ushering everyone inside. The rest of them aided in the evacuation as well, guiding people into the nearest buildings and telling them to close the windows and bar the doors. The rain itself was not the only issue, after all; the air would eventually become poisonous too. There was no telling how much time they had before the color changed, how long it would take for Trousseau to start burning whatever it was that caused such a terrible malady, that had killed an entire village of people. It was a shame they hadn’t been able to find him in the crowd during their search. Perhaps he had already found his perch long before they arrived and had simply been waiting for the right time.

The rain was already starting to feel wrong.

They needed to hurry.

“Well, looks like we got just ‘bout everyone outta the rain,” said Partitio as the nine of them met back up by the gates separating the town from the castle. “I’m sure the soldiers can handle the rest.”

“Indeed,” agreed Hikari. “In the meantime, we should focus on finding Trousseau. Do you have any idea where he might be, Castti?”

“Yes,” she replied. “At the top of Timberain Castle.”

Her response was met with a bit of surprise, but Temenos found that in hindsight it made sense. There was no higher peak in the city, and if the breeze he could feel coming from that direction was any indication, it would be the perfect place for Trousseau to spread his poison. People were unlikely to look for him there as well, given how guarded the palace was. However, it didn’t take much for a practiced apothecary to knock someone out. Herbs had a wide variety of uses, after all. Dispatching the guards would be child’s play to one well practiced in medicine.

“Then what are we waitin’ for? Let’s get goin’!”

Something odd crossed Castti’s face as they began making their way to the castle, a look that the inquisitor couldn’t quite place. It almost looked...resigned, perhaps even guilty, while still laced with that familiar determination, that resolve of hers that had changed Edmund and Griff for the better, that made saving an entire kingdom’s worth of people seem possible, even from something as uncontrollable as the rain. He wondered what was going through her head, but there wasn’t time to find out, to ask if she was alright, because soon enough they all found themselves in the castle and saw that the guards who were meant to be stationed within had all been knocked out.

“Thank goodness they’re still alive,” said Agnea after checking one to make sure he was still breathing. All of them had either been put to sleep or simply rendered unconscious, it seemed. Again, a simple enough feat for one familiar with medicine. Thankfully they were out of the rain, and hopefully they were far enough within the castle walls where the poisonous air wouldn’t reach them either.

There was a furrow in Castti’s brow as she looked around at the interior, spotting a room just off to the side.

“Let’s move them in there for now,” she suggested. “That way they’ll be safe in case the poison gets in.”

A sound suggestion, one that they all quickly carried out (better safe than sorry given their situation), and once they were done, Castti led the way down the hall, down a corridor, down a flight of stairs (weren’t they meant to be traveling up, not down?), and then into a rather spacious room.

Had she simply been looking for a place where they could all dry off and catch their breath for a moment? Surely there wasn’t time for that.

Castti still looked troubled for some reason, and this time he wasn’t the only one to pick up on it.

“Is something wrong, Castti?” asked Hikari. “You have a hard look on your face.”

“And you’ve been really quiet ever since you got done talking to Edmund,” added Throné. “I can tell there’s something on your mind.”

“There is,” she admitted, and if the apothecary were the type to wring her hands, Temenos was certain she’d be wringing them. Instead, however, she simply stood there, those clear blue eyes of hers drifting over all of them one by one. “I have something to tell you, and I need you all to listen to me. We don’t have time to argue about this.”

“What is it?” asked Osvald, cutting right to the point, much like he always did.

Castti took a deep breath, and then in no uncertain terms, she stated, “I want you all to remain here while I handle Trousseau.”

...Somehow, he wasn’t entirely surprised. In hindsight, he should’ve been expecting it. Of course this would be Castti’s decision. Of course she would want to mitigate the potential damage and keep them out of harm’s way. Because this wasn’t a battle against just some person or monster—not in the traditional sense, at least. It was a battle against a disease, a poison, one that spread and killed quickly, one that she didn’t yet have a cure for.

And so of course she would decide that the most logical course of action was to take all of the risk onto herself.

It made sense.

But that didn’t mean he had to like it.

And it also didn’t mean that they were just going to agree with her either.

Ochette was the first to speak up.

“What are you saying, Castti?” she asked, somehow sounding confused and determined at the same time. “You can’t just go off by yourself—we’re supposed to be doing this together.”

“Ochette’s right,” added Agnea. “It’s too dangerous. We’re a team, aren’t we?”

“You’re always supportin’ us, so it’s only right that we support you. Ya can’t just go leavin’ us behind like this—that isn’t like you.”

“Exactly.” Throné crossed her arms over her chest and looked the apothecary in the eye. “What if something happens? What if Trousseau isn’t alone this time? You might need backup.”

“C’mon, Ma—you have to take some of us with you. Please?”

“No,” she stated, in a tone that was firm yet kind, because she clearly understood where all of them were coming from. She often came from that place too. “I can’t.”

“What do you mean you—”

A hand fell onto Agnea’s shoulder, quieting her for a moment as Osvald said, “Give her a chance to explain.”

It was obvious from his tone that he disagreed with this decision as well, but ever the logical one, always wanting to understand, he would let her explain her reasoning before choosing a side.

“Well, Castti?” prompted Hikari, who probably fell into the same category as Osvald in this situation. He wasn’t one for letting a friend go off alone, that was true, but at the same time he also understood that there were some things that needed to be faced alone. Their young prince had fought several battles throughout their journey by himself, for one reason or another.

Next to him, Temenos could practically feel Crick looking on anxiously, his gaze shifting from one person to another. The cleric wondered if he had wanted to speak up as well, only for everyone else to beat him to it. Or perhaps he was trying to think the situation through for a change before deciding on which side he should fall. Much like Temenos. Because he didn’t particularly want to let Castti go off on her own either.

The apothecary took another deep breath to steel herself, putting her thoughts into words, and then told them, “I know that it’s dangerous to go by myself. I’m not telling you to stay behind because I want to do this on my own, I’m saying it because that rain is poisonous and I don’t have a cure for it. If you follow me, you could all die. Just like everyone in Healeaks. The only reason I survived is because I’ve built up a natural resistance to most poisons, and so the snowdrops that Malaya gave me were enough to stop the illness, but that isn’t true for anyone else. Otherwise...she wouldn’t have died.”

There was an unbelievable amount of pain there, underneath her resolve.

Gods, but that weight had to be crushing, didn’t it?

He knew, of course. They all knew that it weighed on her greatly, even if she didn’t show it most of the time. Such a thing was only natural. How could there not be some sense of survivor’s guilt when she was the only one who escaped that massacre, when all of her fellow apothecaries had chosen to give their lives for others? For her?

(He knew full well what it was like to be left behind).

“And so I can’t take you with me,” she continued. “If any of you were to fall ill, I may not be able to save you. I won’t risk your lives like that. You need to stay here—the castle walls are thick, so the air shouldn’t be able to get through this far down. Please understand. You need to let me do this on my own.”

It was obvious, despite her plea, that some of them still disagreed. He could so easily see the worry upon their faces, the defiance, the desire to help, to insist that everything would turn out alright if they just stuck together, even without any guarantee that it actually would. Unfortunately, optimism wasn’t a shield against all danger, and nature had already proven to not be on their side.

Castti wasn’t wrong about the state of things. She wasn’t wrong about the risk. A part of Temenos still didn’t want to let her go, but...in the end, he was going to have to, wasn’t he?

Because what other choice was there?

“Very well,” he said, cutting off a retort from Ochette before it could be made and effectively drawing every eye towards himself.

Sometimes, all a person could do was have faith.

Funnily enough, the one who seemed the most caught off guard by his sudden acceptance was Castti. That being said, his cooperation did come with a few...requirements.

“What?!” their young hunter asked, having recovered from her shock rather quickly. “But Temenos—”

“I am not finished yet, my dear,” he informed her as he moved forward. “Please allow me to say my piece.”

Though she looked rather sullen about it, she did in fact hold her tongue. All of them did as he stopped in front of the apothecary, forcing her to peer up at him to meet his gaze. The surprise was gone, having been replaced by curiosity and that ever-present determination, that unwavering tenacity that had saved countless lives. Her heart really was set on this, on having them remain here, where it was safe. He knew she was not going to budge.

And so he would support her in the only way he could.

“As you well know, I do not place my faith in people easily,” he told her, forcing himself to once again choose sincerity over humor, to not downplay any of what he was about to say or do. She deserved so much more from him than that. “However, back on Toto’haha, you chose to place yours in me when you gave me that concoction during the battle. You made the decision to trust my judgment and my abilities. I didn’t say as much, but it meant a great deal to me, and so it is only right that I return the favor.”

He reached up to his cloak and undid the clasp, pulling it from his shoulders and draping it over Castti’s in a single motion. She ducked her head a bit as he pulled the hood up over it before fastening the garment at her neck and adjusting it so that it fell correctly, watching as her eyes widened at his actions. He wondered if this was a new experience for her, being fretted over in such a way. Normally she was the one who did the fretting.

“There,” he said once he was satisfied. “That should provide you with at least some protection against the rain. And just in case you require it, I would have you take this as well.”

The inquisitor drew on his magic. He would cast his spell at full power.

“Keep harm at bay, O sacred shield.”

A translucent blue barrier took shape in front of her, one that would absorb the full damage of a single strike. He prayed she wouldn’t need it, but he had no idea what Trousseau was capable of. He would rather send her off with as much protection as he could.

He prayed it would be enough.

Beneath his cloak and behind the shield, he could see a small smile pulling at her lips. That touch of amusement was unbelievably reassuring.

“Thank you, Temenos.”

“You needn’t thank me, my dear.” How he wished that he could do more. “And I will have you know that my support does come with a requirement.”

“Oh?”

“You must return to us safely. I shall accept nothing less.”

The room was silent. Temenos wondered what the rest of them thought about this, if they would be mad at him for taking it upon himself, for essentially speaking on their behalf without a scrap of input from any of them. He understood that they were worried—he was worried too—but the reality was that they couldn’t go with her. They shouldn’t go with her. The burden they would place upon her shoulders by doing so would be incredibly unfair. How was she meant to do what needed to be done if she was too busy fearing for their safety, fearing that they might be taken by Trousseau’s poison? Yet more lives that couldn’t be saved. It would be inconsiderate to continue insisting that they all go with.

But he also believed that it would be inconsiderate of Castti to leave them behind like this and then not come back. She would come back.

She had to.

“If I make you a promise,” she began cautiously, her eyes drifting over the eight of them, “does that mean all of you will promise to wait here for me?”

“I suppose that would only be fair.”

“A promise for a promise then?”

He gave her a smile before turning to look at their friends.

“What does everyone think?” he asked them. “A promise to return in exchange for a promise to remain? Can we all agree to that?”

He had been expecting defiance, maybe even some genuine anger, but while the worry from earlier was still very much there, he instead found a good deal of acceptance, of confidence, even that familiar look of belief from Partitio, the same one that he had given Temenos before the inquisitor had gone off (albeit reluctantly) to face the Scourge of the Sea on his own. He received a nod of approval from all of them, even a resigned and somewhat sulky one from Ochette, and as he turned back around to face Castti, he saw a look of pure gratitude shining in her eyes.

“There you have it,” he told her. “We shall remain here and wait for you to return.”

“Alright.” The weight that fell from her shoulders was practically visible as he gave her his word. Their word.

Now it was her turn.

Castti placed a hand over her chest, and with just a touch of cheek mixed in with the solemnity, she said, “Then I swear in the name of Dohter the Charitable, I will come back.”

It was genuine, her promise, but at the same time...

“That’s a bit much, don’t you think? Swearing on the name of your patron god?”

“And here I thought you might appreciate it, given how often you’ve been invoking Aelfric’s name as of late.”

“Heh, I suppose you have a point.” Honestly, this woman... How he would miss her if she didn’t return safely to their side. She had to return, no matter what.

The humor faded. It was time to send her off so that she could do what needed to be done. One way or another.

“Be safe, Castti.”

There were no guarantees in this world. Even this was a promise that could easily be broken.

But he was going to believe in her. Believe that she was up to the task.

An act of faith.

“I intend to.”

And with that, she turned and walked out the door with purpose in her stride, closing it quietly behind her.

Leaving them to wait.

With any luck, it wouldn’t be long.

Crick, depending entirely on the type of situation he was in, both was and was not good at waiting. He had definitely been described as too impatient before, and looking back at several of his actions over the years (especially more recently), he was kind of inclined to agree. It had almost gotten him killed, after all. That being said, he was working on it. He was trying to become a more patient person, more levelheaded. In some ways, it felt like he was succeeding. Being around so many people, many of whom were patient in their own ways, certainly helped.

However, when it came to something like this—standing around in a room, unable to do anything, forced to remain and simply await the safe return of a friend—he could admit to being incredibly impatient, to the point where he could barely keep himself from giving in to his restlessness and pacing the floor. Time felt like it was moving at a crawl. He had no idea how much had actually passed, how long ago Castti had left, and it was obvious that he wasn’t the only one being affected by it.

Ochette, at the moment, was the very picture of impatience. He had learned pretty quickly that she wasn’t really one for sitting around, despite her relatively laidback attitude. She was only truly “patient” while she was hunting, stalking her prey through the woods. The rest of the time, she would rather be doing something—she very clearly wanted to be helping right now—and all too soon, she reached her (understandably short) limit.

“That’s it!” she shouted as she sprang to her feet from where she had been sitting in the middle of the room, staring at the door. “I can’t just keep sitting around like this. I’m going after Castti.”

She didn’t even make it one step before Temenos intervened with a firm and chiding, “Ochette.”

It was the exact same tone that Castti sometimes used to lightly scold her, and it caused the beastling to freeze in place for a moment before turning towards the inquisitor, somehow managing to look both imploring and guilty at the same time.

With a reproachful quirk of his brow, the cleric said, “We all promised we would stay here, remember?”

“I know, but what if she’s in trouble? She might need help!”

A sigh, followed by another, “Ochette...”

“We have a saying in my village, you know,” she continued, desperate to prove her point. “‘Kind hunters are hungry hunters.’ That’s because a kind hunter will share their catch with everyone no matter how hungry they are. That’s Castti! She’d give her last piece of jerky away even if she was starving!”

“I understand what you’re saying,” he replied, not unkindly, “but going out there will not accomplish anything. Trousseau’s poison is deadly. If you were to fall ill because of it, Castti would be devasted. She may also end up blaming herself. She asked us to remain here in order to keep us safe. You must remember that she has lost everything to that poison rain. She does not wish to lose us as well. And so we must remain here.”

A good deal of the fight drained out of Ochette upon hearing the truth—a truth she must’ve already known to some extent, but concern was a powerful thing. Her ears drooped and her gaze drifted down to the floor, her lower lip wabbling just a bit. Despite not actually being the youngest member of their group (that honor belonged to Agnea), there was an extremely honest, childlike quality to her, to the point where that sad expression on her face made Crick’s heart hurt.

She was worried for her friend—they all were—and understanding that fact, Temenos moved across the room and then knelt down in front of her in order to meet that sad, downward gaze, reaching up to rest his hands gently against her arms.

“I know that waiting for the return of a loved one can be difficult,” he told her, “but sometimes, that is all we can do. She promised to return, did she not? She asked us to stay here and wait for her, which means that doing so is a sign of our trust in her, not a sign of inaction like you think.”

“A sign of trust?”

“Yes. Trust that she will return, trust in her ability to stop Trousseau and save Timberain. By waiting, we are proving that we have faith in her, in her abilities, and in her word. Do not think of this as doing nothing to help, but rather showing her that you believe in her, that you believe she will come back. Waiting can be an incredible act of support for the one you are waiting for. Have faith in Castti, alright? I am certain that she will be grateful to see us all safe once she returns.”

To wait was an act of faith, huh?

It was...strange to hear something like that from Temenos, to hear the word “faith” come from a man who prided himself on doubting everything. Except that wasn’t quite true, was it? He only really doubted the things he could not verify for himself, or the things that had proven to be unreliable in one way or another. He doubted the gods because of their silence. He doubted the church because of Roi’s disappearance. He doubted people because most had never given him a reason to actually trust them, like Cubaryi, Kaldena, and the vast majority of the Sacred Guard. But Temenos had faith in himself, in the truth, and in his friends. Faith that had been weighed, tempered, and earned.

That word meant a great deal, coming from him.

Ochette looked thoughtful for a moment, the sadness leaving her as she nodded before saying, “Yeah... Yeah, okay, I can do that. I can wait for her. Castti’s the best apothecary there is, and she’s pretty good with that axe too. There’s no way she’d lose.”

“There you go,” Temenos replied with a smile as he stood up, placing a hand atop the beastling’s head and lightly ruffling her hair. “I knew our clever hunter would understand.”

A breath of laughter escaped her before a smile spread across her face.

“Thanks, Temenos. You’re actually pretty good at this.”

“Well, I am a cleric after all. It is our job to provide guidance for our flocks.”

“Hey, do you think I can ask Draefendi to look after Castti for me? So far I’ve only asked her for some extra luck with my hunts since she blessed me and all, but she could help with this too, right?”

“I don’t see why not. At the very least, it certainly wouldn’t hurt to offer up a prayer.”

“Then that’s what I’ll do!”

“I’ll pray with you, Ochette,” said Agnea as she walked up to the two of them, her smile bright. “We can ask her to look after Castti together.”

“Thanks, Aggie!”

Crick watched as the two of them walked over to one of the walls and sat down on the floor, watched as the inquisitor’s eyes followed them with that fond expression he sometimes wore. What he had just done was undeniably kind, and because he was only amongst friends, he hadn’t felt the need to hide it this time. He had known just what to say to ease Ochette’s worry, to make her understand, every word from his mouth purposeful and genuine. He really was good at it, just like the hunter had said. After all, Crick never would have found the truth without him, never would have opened his eyes without his guidance. From the very beginning, Temenos had been trying to guide him away from blind faith, from taking people and things at face value, from trusting preconceptions instead of paying attention and thinking for himself. Sure, the way he had gone about it was far from normal, teasing him at every opportunity and behaving in a manner that was downright blasphemous at times, but the knight found that he was grateful for it, for all of it. Grateful that Temenos had chosen to try. He could have so easily just left Crick to his fate—another knight ignorant to the corruption, lost to Kaldena’s machinations.

A victim of the church’s corruption and his own blinding ignorance.

Thank the gods that he hadn’t.

“...I guess even you can take your job seriously sometimes.”

Pulled from his thoughts by the sound of Throné’s voice, he saw the thief walk over to Temenos, looking rather pleased all things considered. Her tone might have been a touch sardonic, but her expression certainly wasn’t.

The inquisitor gave her a look from the corner of his eye.

“Was that meant to be a compliment, Throné? It sounded more like an insult to me.”

“Take it however you want. Regardless, I think we all needed to hear that, so thanks. Trust a cleric to understand that sometimes you just have to wait and have faith, even a cleric like you.”

A soft laugh escaped him, but the smile that pulled at his lips was unable to reach his eyes.

“My understanding has little to do with being a cleric, I fear.”

The words, when he continued, were so quiet that Crick could barely hear them from where he was standing, knew that he probably wasn’t meant to hear them and likely wouldn’t have had he not been focusing on Temenos (like he so often did).

“I’ve simply had a lot of experience, that’s all.”

...Oh.

Oh.

(It was like flipping a switch, the realization, the understanding that dawned on him in that moment).

Right, he had been... Temenos had been... That was why he had known what to...

“Always left behind, never the one leaving.”

Suddenly everything was put so perfectly into perspective.

Gods, no wonder he had said what he did to Ochette. No wonder he had so easily found the words to assuage her fears. He understood it all too well.

“Roi preceded me as Inquisitor. However, he embarked on an investigation into the church, but never returned.”

“I know that waiting for the return of a loved one can be difficult, but sometimes, that is all we can do.”

He understood it all so painfully well.

How hard had it been for Temenos to put his own feelings aside, to say what he did to Castti earlier, to allow her to leave and encourage the rest of them to do the same, to watch her just...walk away? It had been the logical choice to be sure, because everything the apothecary had said about their situation was true. It would be dangerous for them to go outside, dangerous to put themselves at the mercy of that poison rain, and so the inquisitor did make the right decision in the end, but...

But that didn’t make it easy, did it? That didn’t make it easy at all. He probably would have preferred to go with her as well, the consequences be damned, but in the end he had chosen to trust her, to trust that things would turn out differently this time, that no one would be left behind.

How hard must it have been to push aside his “experience” and have faith instead?

Temenos turned and began walking away, as if he had said nothing out of the ordinary to his assistant at all. Those sharp eyes of hers stared after him, tracing his steps until he reached the far corner of the room, before they immediately, and with a very pointed look in them, shot over to Crick.

...Maybe he was finally getting better at reading people, or maybe Throné was purposely making herself easy to read, but...well, her intentions seemed pretty clear. That look said one thing.

Talk to him.

He wondered if she understood how difficult that was. Because the fact of the matter was that Temenos didn’t want to talk about it; he had made that perfectly clear before. He had no desire to speak about his grief, claiming that it wouldn’t change anything, and so the knight very much doubted that he would be willing to speak about it now. Even if Crick was curious—there was still so much he wanted to know. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt just to ask him a question, because if Temenos didn’t want to say anything, then he wouldn’t, but the knight would never know if he didn’t try. It was true that the inquisitor had never once outright turned him away, had never denied him at least a bit of the truth. Surely that would be the case this time as well, right?

Making up his mind on the matter relatively quickly, Crick found where Temenos had stationed himself—towards the back of the room in front of a large landscape painting—and then proceeded to make his way over.

He stopped right next to him and waited silently for a moment, expecting his presence to be noticed relatively quick, but upon not being acknowledged in the slightest, he glanced over at the inquisitor from the corner of his eye and found a somewhat faraway look on his friend’s face.

That glassy expression was a bit disconcerting.

Crick would be willing to bet that Temenos was only pretending to be engrossed in the painting, that in truth he wasn’t really seeing it at all. What was he thinking about as he stood there, clearly lost in thought? It didn’t seem like he was thinking too deeply, however, to the point where he wouldn’t be able to hear everything around him, where he couldn’t keep an ear out for the other voices in the room. As the one who had insisted on making a promise to Castti, he probably felt responsible for guaranteeing it was upheld. That being said, the knight was pretty sure that no one else would try to leave. Ochette had been the most likely to lose her patience and insist on helping, after all.

He could hear her and Agnea, as well as Partitio who must have decided to join in, offering up a somewhat...unorthodox prayer on the other side of the room. Actually, make that very unorthodox. Back when he had first joined the Sacred Guard, he might have been agitated to hear such an informal plea—more like a conversation with a friend than a beseechment of a divine being. Now, however, he couldn’t help but smile at their enthusiastic if not clumsy attempt, their words undeniably sincere as they prayed. Surely the gods would prefer something like that, a payer that was clearly from the heart and filled with character, rather than the rigid, practiced words that were so often spoken out of habit.

His view of things really was starting to change, little by little, or perhaps it had changed even more than he thought.

He had the cleric at his side to thank for that. A cleric who clearly needed to talk to someone right now, even if he didn’t want to.

“Temenos,” he called softly, keeping his voice quiet for the sake of privacy, and he watched as those green eyes slowly cleared before looking towards him.

The inquisitor’s expression was carefully blank, aside from the slightest hint of curiosity in his gaze.

“I...” Gods, but it was difficult to keep his voice from wavering, because there was every possibility that this would not go well. “I wanted to ask you something.”

A quirked brow and more curiosity. Surely that was a good sign.

“It’s about what you said to Ochette.”

“...Oh?”

“B-but it might be too personal of a question. You probably won’t want to answer it.”

Crick was trying.

He was trying really, really hard not to let his nerves get the better of him, not to allow that blank look to make him lose his courage entirely. He needed to go through with this.

At the same time, however, the last thing he wanted was to force the issue. He would not broach the subject, would not ask outright unless Temenos gave him permission. A desire to know was not reason enough to bring up a painful topic. He would not be inconsiderate about this.

Something wary but also thoughtful flickered across the cleric’s face as he mulled over Crick’s words, and after a moment of silence (one that stretched on long enough to the point where the knight had been getting ready to completely fold and just apologize), Temenos eventually told him, “Go ahead. There is no harm in just asking. If it is indeed something I do not wish to speak of, then I won’t. I will not fault you for your curiosity, Crick.”

He breathed a small sigh of relief, grateful that his earlier thoughts on the matter had proven to be true (he really was getting better at this), before finding the best way to ask his question. The problem was, there really wasn’t a “best way.” If he tried to be too careful, he would likely just talk himself in circles, but being too direct might cause Temenos to close off.

What to do...

...He may as well just go for it. He had already warned Temenos that it was personal, so why attempt to downplay it now? There was little point in beating around the bush (he had never been particularly good at subtlety anyway).

And so Crick took a deep breath and said what was on his mind.

“Inquisitor Roi went missing almost six years ago. I was just...wondering how long you and the pontiff waited for him, before deciding that he wouldn’t be coming back.”

(He was pretty sure that when Throné had given him that meaningful look earlier, this was not the “talk” she had wanted him to have. But it was the one he wanted to have. And it was still very much related).

As expected, the inquisitor didn’t say anything. However, the look that fell across his face wasn’t...quite as shuttered as Crick had thought it would be. Actually, it wasn’t really shuttered at all. Instead it simply remained indifferent, but still with that touch of thoughtfulness and wariness from before, along with a hint of something melancholic right around his eyes. Temenos was good at hiding his emotions—he had to be for the sake of his profession—but sometimes there were traces of them present if one simply knew where to look.

...Crick was almost certain that his friend wasn’t going to answer him. The question was obviously too personal, too rooted in the things he didn’t want to discuss.

And so his surprise was surely understandable when Temenos decided to prove him wrong.

“In some ways,” he began quietly (so quiet that Crick might’ve missed the words had he not been listening for them, had he not been standing close by), “I suppose I am still waiting, though not in the manner that you might think. I want to know what happened to him, why he was unable to return. Not knowing his fate is so much worse than simply being told he was killed. But to answer your question, one year. I made the decision to wait one year before deciding that he wouldn’t be coming back, at which point I would dedicate myself to finding the truth of what happened, of what he had discovered that night. It wasn’t long after that the pontiff appointed me as Inquisitor in Roi’s place. I suppose he had chosen to wait one year as well.”

His gaze drifted from the painting to the floor, snow-white hair falling in front of his eyes as he bowed his head.

“Neither of us wanted to give up hope, but...sometimes, hope alone is not enough. And yet sometimes, it is all we have. I have seen it do some incredible things, and so I pray that this time it will turn out differently, that the choice both Castti and I made was the right one.”

A deep breath, and then beneath it, he whispered, “Being left behind or leaving behind... I wonder what hurts more.”

He seemed to catch himself right as the words left his lips, his eyes widening as they shot up to meet Crick’s. He obviously hadn’t meant to say that aloud, his panic muted but palpable, and the knight...honestly had no idea what to do. He could not for the life of him figure out a single thing to say. He probably looked just as surprised as Temenos did, because he hadn’t been expecting that level of honesty from him—the same honesty as when he’d been drunk. This whole situation really had to be weighing on him for the inquisitor to admit to such a thing, to allow his thoughts to spill forth in such a way when normally he would have kept them to himself. No wonder Throné had wanted someone (in this case Crick) to talk to him, because clearly he wasn’t handling this as well as he had seemed, as he had made them all believe.

His words to Ochette had been genuine, but his concern was a genuine thing too. Being a cleric, a shepherd, often meant putting your own feelings on things aside. In some ways, he had known that, but it had never been more apparent to him than it was now—as he stood there and watched Temenos very subtly flounder, obviously wishing that he could take back what he had said.

His shock didn’t last long (it never really did). Soon enough, the inquisitor clenched his jaw, schooled his expression, and requested (demanded), “I would ask that you forget about that.”

It was a command, pure and simple, but...

“I’m...pretty sure I can’t, Temenos.” He couldn’t even if he wanted to, and hadn’t Temenos previously told him that he knew such a request would be impossible, not to mention unreasonable? Surely he had to have known what his response would be.

The knight was expecting a glare, maybe some irritation, but instead he received a sigh—a deep, heavy, deflating one—that took the inquisitor’s cloak of authority he had tried to wrap himself in right along with it.

Crick probably would’ve been amused by his friend’s dramatics if not for the situation.

“You needn’t worry about being honest with me,” he told the cleric. “It’s not as if I would ever judge you for it.”

“Says the man who has quite regularly judged my actions.”

“That’s different and you know it. Stop trying to deflect.”

That earned him an amused smile as the inquisitor crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head to the side, looking up at him in that familiar, enigmatic way of his.

“Goodness, you really are becoming quite bold, aren’t you? Calling me on my habits like this. I would be impressed if not for the fact that it is very much to my detriment. That being said, I suppose there are...worse things than what I allowed myself to say to you. Comfort does breed complacency, as the saying goes. It was bound to happen eventually, even without the aid of wine.”

“...Wait, does that mean...” Maybe he was misreading this, but... “You would actually be willing to talk about it?”

“Absolutely not. I believe I have spoken more than enough about this topic for one day.”

Well, so much for that thought. Honestly, making any sort of progress on this felt like trying to squeeze water from a rock. Was it really that difficult to give him just a bit more openness?

“However,” the inquisitor suddenly said, causing Crick to immediately perk up. “I might be inclined to... There is no telling how long we will have to wait here, so if you were at all interested in perhaps...hearing some stories about Roi to pass the time, I could be convinced to share them.”

Stories about Roi... It was a compromise, to be sure, but a welcome one. He had always wanted to know more about the previous inquisitor.

And by learning more about Roi, he would surely learn more about Temenos as well. The two people who had changed his life. The ones he owed everything to.

“I would like that.”

...Time passed rather quickly after that.

“You mean he actually—”

“Indeed he did. I told you that he was honest to his own detriment. You should have seen the look on the pontiff’s face—I imagine he was trying very hard not to laugh. He always did have a wonderful sense of humor.”

It passed very quickly indeed. He wasn’t sure how much had gone by as they all fell into something that almost seemed comfortable, the worry still present but tempered as they waited for Castti to return. Agnea and Ochette were chatting quietly, Throné was petting Mahina, and Osvald, Hikari, and Partitio seemed to be having some sort of conversation about steam. They had all found something to do to ease the agony of waiting, and eventually their patience paid off.

All of a sudden, Ochette gave a soft gasp, drawing all of their attention as she—for the second time that day—sprang to her feet.

“What is it, Ochette?” asked Agnea.

The beastling’s ears twitched, as if she were listening for something intently, before saying quite simply, “The rain stopped.”

Everyone else who had been sitting got to their feet in a matter of seconds as well.

What did that mean for them, exactly? Surely it was good news. No more rain meant no more poison, right? It also meant that they might be able to leave the room soon as well. So long as the air had been cleaned, of course. It certainly wouldn’t do to rush out only to fall ill and end up breaking their promise. Which led to perhaps the biggest question: what had become of Castti? Was she alright, did she win? Was the danger officially over? Did she avoid succumbing to that poison rain?

Was she able to find a cure?

So many questions. Too many. Surely she was on her way back. Surely she had been victorious.

There was no way that Dohter’s chosen apothecary would fail.

“Do you hear anything else, Ochette?” asked Hikari as everyone moved closer to where the beastling was, closer to the door.

“I think I can hear footsteps,” she replied, still listening carefully. “It sounds like more than one set though. All this stone is really echoey, so it’s kind of hard to tell.”

“And what does your nose tell you?”

“Hmm...that’s a tough one too. That poison was really pungent, and the scent is still all over the place. But I think...I can kinda smell something like...”

Scents aside, seeing as how none of them had a nose anywhere near as good as Ochette’s, it wasn’t long before the rest of them were able to hear the footsteps as well, rushing towards the door, and then without any hesitation whatsoever, said door was quickly thrown open.

In the doorway stood none other than Castti.

She looked...tired, to put it simply, and was clearly out of breath, but the expression that crossed her face upon seeing them all alive and well was so immense and filled with pure, unbridled relief that it washed everything else away. Crick wondered if a part of her had thought they might not listen, despite the promise that had been made. He couldn’t exactly blame her if so (it had been a very near thing, after all).

Her hair was in disarray, the cloak that Temenos had given her covered in patches of purple and red, but she didn’t appear to be injured or sick, merely exhausted, and that was all that really mattered, wasn’t it?

She had returned to them. Alive and safe.

“Castti!”

That was all the warning the apothecary got before Ochette launched herself towards her, wrapping her arms around the healer’s waist in a tight hug.

The fondness that alighted upon Castti’s face reminded him very much of a mother’s.

“I’m so glad you’re safe!”

A hand settled gently atop the beastling’s head.

“I promised I’d come back, didn’t I?”

Indeed she did—and as it turned out, she didn’t just come back. She had brought a cure for Trousseau’s poison along with her. A cure that she had concocted immediately upon finishing her fight with him, on top of the castle in the pouring rain.

She seriously was incredible.

“Master Edmund informed me that some of the townspeople and soldiers didn’t make it out of the rain in time. I need to treat them, and I could use your help.”

As if any of them would ever say no. Not a single one of those people would die.

The nine of them would make sure of it.

By the time everything was said and done, the sun was beginning to set. The clouds were gone, the air once again pure, and the sky was painted in hues of deep red and orange.

It was an almost picturesque end to a very harrowing day.

The streets were silent as they all made their way back to the tavern. It seemed that no one much cared to be out and about just yet. Understandable, really. Even the tavern keeper had informed them that he would be closing up early to spend time with his family, though not before giving them a key and telling them to use his establishment as they saw fit, in thanks for saving the city. That had certainly been a relief, seeing as how they were unable to find rooms at the inn. He had already allowed them to store their stuff in one of his storage closets after Castti had convinced the soldiers to help her evacuate everyone.

A kind gesture to be sure, and one they had all been grateful for. Carrying all of their stuff with them as they ran through the streets would’ve been a massive pain. Temenos was certain they were even more grateful though to have been given a place to stay for the night, even if it meant they would technically be camping indoors. They could make do for now. Perhaps there would be rooms available at the inn tomorrow, after the coronation. They would probably be spending at least a few days in Timberain before beginning their long trek towards Ku.

That was something to deal with tomorrow though. For the time being, he was pretty sure that the only thing most of them wanted to do right now was sleep. Castti in particular looked like she might nod off at any moment.

“I’m just going to rest my eyes for a bit,” she said as she sat down at one of the tables and promptly leaned forward, cushioning her head in her arms. She really did look exhausted. That was to be expected, after all, considering just how much she had done.

“Take all the time you need, my dear,” he told her, sitting down as well.

“Sorry about your cloak...”

“There is no need to apologize for that. I gave it to you, after all. And I have a spare, if the purple coloring won’t come out. You needn’t fret about it.”

“Alright.”

A breath of silence, and then, “It meant a lot to me, you know.”

“Hmm?”

“What you said earlier, and the fact that you trusted me. It meant a lot. I just...wanted you to know.”

He couldn’t help but smile at that as he told her, “I was happy to return the favor. I trust you a great deal, Castti. We all do. What would we ever do without our dear mother hen?”

“No...teasing, Temenos...”

“My apologies.”

She breathed a sigh, her eyes already having slipped shut, and just like that, she was asleep. It wasn’t long after that most of their friends began to gather around the table, having gotten everything out of the storage room.

“Is Ma asleep?” asked Ochette.

“She is,” he replied.

“Good,” said Partitio. “She was definitely lookin’ tired. Think we should move her?”

“We might want to let her be for now,” suggested Hikari. “I would hate for us to wake her.”

It was Osvald who suggested that perhaps they should get her a blanket at least, if they were going to be leaving her at the table.

“Here we go!” said Agnea brightly as she brought it over, draping it across the apothecary’s slumbering form. She really was sound asleep, but still, they were all loath to move her, in the off chance that she might accidently wake.

They would set up her bedroll for her though, just in case.

The inquisitor took one last look at his friend, at the shadows beneath her eyes, the lines of exhaustion on her face. Despite being absolutely drained from her battle with Trousseau, in more ways than one, she had still pressed onward, ensuring that not a single innocent life was lost. She really had saved them all, had done what no other apothecary could, and he hoped that this would help ease some of her guilt over being the only one of Eir’s Apothecaries to survive.

They had to be proud of her. If there were any lingering expectations, then surely she had met them.

At long last, she could put the nightmare behind her.

“Rest well, Castti.”

He reached over and pulled the blanket a little higher over her shoulders.

The weight upon them was finally gone.

“You have more than earned it.”

Chapter Text

It was undeniably heartening to see all of Timberain together and safe as the townspeople and guests alike celebrated the crowning of a new king. The prince really did love his lavish celebrations, and the attack from the previous day clearly wasn’t enough to have put a damper on the festivities it seemed. In this case, Crick supposed that was a good thing. It was important to move forward, to not dwell on the tragedy that had almost taken place, and what better way to honor what Castti had done for the kingdom than to simply enjoy the lives she had saved? To an apothecary like her, seeing her patients healthy and smiling was the greatest reward, and he couldn’t help but agree.

Timberain might not be his home anymore, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t happy to see it safe.

“Guess we missed the big celebration,” said Partitio as he surveyed the crowd. Despite his words, however, a grin was steadily pulling at his lips. “But just look at all those smilin’ faces. Can’t ask for more than that, right Castti?”

“Yes,” the apothecary said with a relieved sigh and a smile upon her own face. “I’m so glad we made it in time, that we were able to save them.”

There was still a bit of exhaustion present, even though she had slept well into the morning (they all had, truth be told), but it mattered little when compared to the peace that had settled over her, having finally put her past to rest. It had to be liberating, regardless of the pain that still lingered, the pain of what she had been forced to do. In the end, there had been no hope left for Trousseau. He had chosen his path, seeing the world as nothing more than a pit of suffering, unable to look past the inevitable end that was death and notice the beauty and joy in living. He hadn’t always been that way, according to Castti. Something (or someone) had made him lose hope.

For a man so caring and compassionate to become so twisted with despair... It was a terrifying thing. And a very sad thing. Just like Kaldena, who hadn’t been able to see beyond her rage, viewing the world as hateful and tainted. He couldn’t really understand it, being so consumed by resentment and hopelessness. Yes, the world was cruel, but what point was there in being cruel in return? Would it not be better to try and change it, to rise above what happened and make every attempt to ensure it didn’t happen again? Was that truly such a hard thing to do?

Maybe he was just being naïve again, but he wanted to believe that it wasn’t. He was now acquainted with several people who had chosen not to wallow in their circumstances, who had made the decision to help people, help the world, no matter how hard it might be. He had moved beyond his own circumstances as well, more than once. Sometimes it was a struggle, yes, but so far it had all been worth it. Every hardship had been worth it, and so long as he could continue walking this path, it would continue to be worth it too.

He very much believed that.

“Oh!” he heard Agnea gasp, pulling him out his thoughts. He watched as she pointed to a spot off to the right before saying to the merchant at her side, “Isn’t that your friend, Partitio?”

“My friend?” he questioned, peering into the crowd as well before confusion turned to recognition. “I think you’re right, that’s gotta be—hey, Ori! That’s you, ain’t it? Over here, it’s me!”

Soon enough, a slightly familiar face appeared from the crowd: the scrivener who had helped Partitio sneak into Roque’s factory, that Temenos had described as “an odd one, but also a good sort.” There was a smile on her face as she made her way over.

“Well, well,” she said, chipper just like the last time. “Fancy seeing you here, Partitio.”

“I could say the same to you,” the merchant replied. “What brings you all the way out west?”

“Why, this of course,” she replied, motioning to the massive crowd, the people all joyfully gathering in the streets. Even though the main festivities were over, there was still music softly playing, vendors selling snacks, and even a group of street performers a little further down the path. It would all probably go on for a while yet. “It’s not every day a new king is crowned. There was no way I could pass up an opportunity like this.”

“Heh, you really do take your job seriously, don’t you? No wonder Throné said your articles contained an ‘extraordinary spirit.’ You really got a knack for this, huh.”

Something...strange flickered across Ori’s face, just for a moment. If he didn’t know any better, he would call it a pang of sadness or perhaps even pain, but it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared, replaced with a proud smile, which made the knight wonder if he had just been imagining things. Or perhaps there was more to Ori’s choice of profession than just having a particular knack. After all, Temenos had also said that she was “quite passionate about spreading good news whenever possible,” so clearly her reasons must be tied to that as well. Perhaps she was yet another person who had seen the suffering in the world and wanted to change it. If only more scriveners thought that way. There were many who only seemed to care for gossip and tawdry rumors, often adding a hefty dose of embellishment to make their stories more “entertaining” as well.

Needless to say, he wasn’t a fan. But Ori seemed alright.

“I suppose I do,” she replied. “Though I wasn’t expecting so much excitement this time. Speaking of which...”

Her attention turned towards Castti.

“You’re her, aren’t you,” she said. “The apothecary that saved everyone. I was hoping I might get the chance to speak with you.”

It was obvious that Castti hadn’t really been expecting to be addressed—she had mostly just been watching the crowd with a soft, pleased expression on her face—but after that initial surprise faded, she quietly told her, all with a kind smile, “It wasn’t just me who saved them. We saved them. The soldiers from Timberain, Master Edmund and his men, all of my friends, and...Eir’s Apothecaries. It was all of us, together. I never could have saved so many people without them.”

She wasn’t really giving herself enough credit, which the knight was starting to realize was pretty normal for her, but at the same time she wasn’t wrong that it had been a joint effort, that a lot of different people had been involved. Without the soldiers and Edmund’s men, they never could have gotten everyone off the streets in time, and without Eir’s Apothecaries, Castti likely would have died in Healeaks. There would have been no one left to stop Trousseau, no one who could create a cure for his poison. Every single person in the kingdom would have surely perished if not for the combined actions of so many people.

There really was very little that any one person could do alone.

And yet sometimes, one person could inspire hundreds. Because it was Castti’s heart, that drive of hers to save as many lives as possible, to heal whoever needed it, that had motivated all of those people, moving them to act. Her fellow apothecaries had adopted her creed, choosing to act upon it at the cost of their own lives, and then her actions while visiting Sai had earned her the trust and respect of two separate armies. She had accomplished so much just by being kind, by her unwavering dedication to her beliefs. It was an incredible thing. No wonder she had been able to lead a group of apothecaries and bring aid to countless people.

It was a shame that so few would ever know the full story. Many across Solistia still believed that Eir’s Apothecaries was a malicious group that spread pestilence and slaughtered the sick. It was frustrating to say the least, and apparently he wasn’t the only one who thought so.

“Hey, Castti,” began Partitio, drawing the healer’s attention. It was obvious just from the tone of his voice that an idea had sparked to life. “Maybe this is your chance to set the record straight.”

“What record?” she asked, looking at him curiously.

“Eir’s Apothecaries,” he replied. “There were all sorts o’ rumors ‘bout them, which we know aren’t true, but people might still believe ‘em for a good while yet. So, why not tell Ori what really happened? She’s a great scrivener, someone who cares ‘bout spreadin’ good news instead of bad. You can trust her to do right by your friends, to tell the real story, I just know it!”

Again, there was that hint of sadness in Ori’s expression, though this time Crick thought he saw something genuinely touched as well before all of it was shoved behind a smile. He really did wonder if he was just seeing things, but at the same time he had gotten used to noticing those little details after spending so much time with Temenos. The inquisitor often hid things behind a smile as well (though he had been letting his guard down a lot more lately, allowing Crick to see behind the mask. Every moment of pure honesty from him was something to be treasured).

“I...” Castti seemed at a loss, just for a moment, before she said, “While it’s certainly a nice thought, Partitio, I’m sure Ori will have her hands full writing an article about the coronation. That is why she came here, after all.”

“I can do both,” the scrivener said, as if such a thing was no problem at all. “If what you just told me is true, then Eir’s Apothecaries helped save Timberain, right? I bet I can tie all of it together into an incredible article—especially if I’m the only one who gets to hear the full story.”

Partitio gave a rather hearty chuckle at that, followed by an amused, “Always tryin’ to get a leg up on the competition, aren’t ya?”

“You know it!”

“Well...” began Castti, seeming a little unsure, though Crick got the feeling it was more so because she didn’t want to inconvenience Ori as opposed to not wanting to tell the story, to wipe away the stigma left behind by Trousseau’s actions. “If you’re sure it wouldn’t be a bother for you...”

“Not at all!” the scrivener said. “I’d be happy to do it. I plan on being in Timberain for the rest of the day, so there’s plenty of time for an interview.”

“Great!” said Partitio, who actually seemed more excited about this prospect than any of them (though to be fair, it had been his idea). “Then why don’t we head back to the tavern? Plenty o’ places to sit down ‘n’ have a conversation there. Although, we did say we’d wait here for everyone to get back...”

As if on cue, Throné, Ochette, and Hikari emerged from the crowd, the thief carrying a bag that, given what her original intent had been upon disappearing with the beastling, was probably filled with food. Earlier that morning, Ochette had insisted on exploring the food stalls, because several things had smelled delicious according to her, and so Throné had volunteered to go with and buy breakfast for everyone, seeing as how Castti had still been sleeping at the time. Normally it was the apothecary who accompanied Ochette whenever the hunter wanted to look at food vendors (because letting her go alone would result in too much money spent and too much meat purchased), but it’s not like the rest of them weren’t capable as well. Throné was pretty good at putting her foot down about things. She had been a good choice to make sure there was no excessive meat purchasing.

Hikari had not initially gone with them but had clearly met up with them at some point during the morning. Instead, the prince had volunteered to check for rooms at the inn. While there hadn’t been any available yesterday, some of the guests would be leaving today now that the coronation was over, which meant that there would probably be rooms open later on. While camping out at the tavern had been fine, they wouldn’t be able to use that option again since the tavernkeep wasn’t going to be closing up early two days in a row. He had customers to take care of, after all. Letting them stay the one night had been more than generous.

“Did you have any luck, Hikari?” asked Agnea.

“Yes,” he replied. “The innkeeper said there will be several rooms open later this afternoon. So long as we can keep storing our stuff at the tavern for the time being, we should be fine.”

“That’s wonderful! It’ll be nice to sleep in an actual bed tonight. And you, Throné? What did you and Ochette find for breakfast?”

It was the hunter who answered, smiling brightly.

“You’ll love it, Aggie! Remember those crepes we tried in New Delsta? There was a guy selling them here too! He even had ones filled with meat!”

Throné rolled her eyes fondly at the beastling’s enthusiasm before stating, “We bought more than enough for everyone. We can head back to the tavern and eat as soon as Temenos and Osvald return from their... Ah, perfect timing.”

Sure enough, coming up the path from the main entrance were Osvald and Temenos, and while neither of them looked particularly disappointed, they didn’t exactly look triumphant or enthusiastic either. Which probably meant they’d had no luck again. Crick wasn’t very familiar with magic, especially when it came to high-level enchantments, and so he couldn’t really help in any way, but that didn’t stop him from wishing there was something he could do, some way to assist. What Temenos was trying to learn was indeed very difficult but completely doable according to the scholar. He was just struggling with it was all. The cleric seemed to believe that he was missing something, some fundamental piece that would make it work.

Alephan the Scholarking was a god that valued knowledge, wisdom, and magic, all of which Temenos clearly had in abundance. There was no reason he shouldn’t be able to use the god’s divine skill himself. Fortunately, his repeated failures had yet to deter him, which the knight supposed wasn’t too surprising all things considered. The inquisitor was rather stubborn, not to mention patient. He wasn’t about to give up, which meant that one day he would learn it. His perseverance would pay off. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt for Crick to learn a bit more about magic as well. He couldn’t deny being curious, even if he lacked the aptitude to actually cast spells. At the very least, it might help him relate a bit better to his charge.

“No luck, Detective?” asked Throné as the cleric and scholar reached their group, the former shaking his head with a sigh.

“No, unfortunately,” he replied. “But I believe I am getting closer to figuring this out. I shall find the solution eventually.”

“That’s the spirit, partner! I’m sure all your hard work’ll pay off, just like it always does. C’mon, why don’t we head back to the tavern for now and have ourselves some breakfast. I’m sure some of us are probably starvin’.”

“You can say that again,” agreed Ochette, her stomach growling at the mere mention of food, drawing a smile from most of them as they began to make their way to the tavern with Ori in tow. No one really questioned the scrivener’s presence, not even Temenos, perhaps due to the fact that they had simply gotten used to her randomly showing up. It probably just made sense to them for someone as dedicated to her job as Ori was to be present at the coronation, to want to write an article about what happened, and Crick found himself thinking that it was quite noble of her to be willing to tie Castti’s story into it, the truth about Eir’s Apothecaries. What a satisfying way for it all to end, with not a single life lost and the truth of the entire incident laid bare.

Sometimes tragic things could at the very least have a happy ending.

“Crick,” he heard Temenos call, and so he glanced back at the cleric, slowing his pace until they were side by side.

“Yes?”

“Once we are finished with breakfast, I would like you to accompany me to the courthouse. It is time for us to find our judge for the trial and discuss the matter with him. That way, if he says yes, he will be able to get things moving while we are off helping Hikari reclaim Ku. It will likely take a while to properly summon the entirety of the Sacred Guard and have them come to Timberain, and so the sooner we begin the process, the sooner we can bring all of this to a close.”

“Do you truly believe we’ll be able to put everyone on trial?” There were a lot of Sanctum Knights, and several of them weren’t even in Stormhail. Many were in fact stationed throughout both the eastern and western continents. Calling everyone back and then having them all travel to Timberain seemed like an impossibility, or at the very least a monumental task that would not at all be worth the effort. While it was true that records of deployment were kept at the headquarters, there was no guarantee that they were accurate, and there was also no guarantee that those loyal to Kaldena or even just acting out of their own self-interest would respond to a summons anyway.

“No,” the inquisitor replied. “It is inevitable that a few here or there will slip through the cracks. However, so long as we are able to force the majority of them to attend, that should be sufficient, and if Ort was successful in finding a reliable knight amongst the senior ranks, then the process will have already begun. I made my intentions quite clear in that letter, you see.”

His intentions...

Crick still found it hard to believe in a sense that Temenos actually wanted the Sacred Guard to continue, to not be completely disbanded after all that had happened. He only wanted the corruption rooted out and the organization’s authority stripped so that they couldn’t act on their own anymore, so that there would never again be a case where one person held so much unchecked power within the church. It really was going to have to be restructured from the ground up, but that was alright. The ones who believed in the Sacred Flame, who had joined to protect people and make a difference, would certainly be willing to put in the work, to see the Sacred Guard become what they had believed it to be. Nothing truly worthwhile could be achieved without effort. Hopefully he would be given an opportunity to help out as well, even while residing in Flamechurch. He wondered if Temenos would want to be involved in the rebuilding too.

That was a matter for later though. There was a lot to get through before then. They didn’t even know if everything would turn out the way they wanted, because the inquisitor, despite his lofty position, was still at the mercy of those above him in the church. He had said it himself, back when Crick had first started helping him with the reports, that without the pontiff, he unfortunately lacked the necessary authority to handle this matter on his own. All they could really do was hope that things would go their way and that the judge Temenos had mentioned would be of a similar mindset and help them achieve their goal. That was the whole reason he had spent so long writing that very detailed proposal, after all.

Now it was just a matter of finding him, delivering the document, and then praying he would agree to preside over the trial.

Which, unfortunately, proved to be much easier said than done. Because upon visiting the courthouse after breakfast, they found not a single soul in sight aside from a security guard named Meylan, who simply told them that there weren’t any proceedings at the moment and that they would need to come back tomorrow if they wished to discuss something with one of the attorneys or a judge. Apparently they were all out enjoying the coronation.

Not exactly a great start to their search.

“What do we do now?” he asked the inquisitor.

“Well, I suppose we could walk around for a bit and see if we can find him. Otherwise, we shall simply have to return tomorrow and request an audience. I had hoped to get this taken care of today, however, since I don’t know how long we will be staying in the city. It will likely take him a while to read through my proposal...”

“Then we may as well look around. It’s not as if there was anything else we needed to do today.”

“True enough. Then let us be off.”

It was kind of...nice, actually, being able to walk around Timberain when the people were all in such a pleasant mood, when there was music still playing and entertainers performing and the only thing he had to worry about was keeping pace with Temenos so as not to lose sight of him in the crowd. The kingdom was proving to be a much brighter place than he remembered, and so the knight couldn’t help but wonder just how many of his memories were colored by his situation at the time, if his poor opinion of the city was due to the fact that he had hated the circumstances he’d been forced into, that his parents had forced him into.

He would like to get to know his childhood home better someday. He didn’t really have the time to right now, unfortunately, seeing as how they were currently on a mission, but eventually it might be nice to look around with eyes that weren’t clouded by past misfortune, to instead see things as they were. After all, there was a lot to love about the kingdom. It was obvious that many of its people took great pride in being citizens of Timberain, which seemed to be true for the nobles and commoners alike. That had to mean something. The soldiers they had met yesterday had seemed quite proud of their home as well.

...Perhaps he could have become a soldier of the kingdom himself one day, had he chosen to stay instead of leave. He might not have minded that kind of life. His parents probably wouldn’t have approved of it though. Not that he particularly cared. However, the gods had apparently had a different path in mind for him. Crick wasn’t entirely sure if he believed in fate, but...sometimes, he genuinely wondered if that’s what it was. All of the pieces had lined up in such an unbelievable way for him. That being said, he knew that fate alone wasn’t responsible. He had chosen this path of his own free will, and he would continue to choose it for the rest of his days.

Timberain wasn’t his home anymore. It would never be his home again.

And that was alright with him.

“Goodness,” he heard Temenos say with a sigh after the two of them had been walking the streets for a while. “I doubt we are going to have much luck like this. It will be hard to find one man amongst all these people. Perhaps we should simply enjoy the festivities for now instead. Sometimes the best way to find something is to not look for it.”

“What?” That didn’t make a lot of sense. “How does that work?”

“The same way that taking a break does when you are stuck on a particular problem. In some cases, the more you try to find something, the more it eludes you. Perhaps a change of pace is all we need.”

He still wasn’t sure if that actually made sense, not when it came to searching for a person as opposed to a solution to some problem, but he was willing to play along.

“What did you have in mind?” he asked.

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t mind sampling a few more crepes...”

The knight resisted the urge to sigh, knowing it would only amuse the inquisitor. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised. While Temenos was in no way a glutton—sometimes he got so caught up in what he was doing that he would actually forget to eat—he did have a somewhat insatiable sweet tooth. Of course his first choice upon deciding to take a break would be to buy more crepes, given how much he had seemed to enjoy the ones from breakfast. Not that Crick could really blame him; they had been good. Especially the ones filled with cream and fresh fruit.

Maybe he would have to learn how to make crepes someday...

...Well, in the end, Temenos’s somewhat roundabout way of doing things actually ended up paying off. After sampling the food at a couple of stalls in addition to buying a few more crepes, they were making their way across one of the bridges when a voice suddenly caught their ears.

“Is that...? It is, isn’t it. Inquisitor Temenos! Temenos Mistral!”

At the sound of his name, the inquisitor stopped and turned, which prompted Crick to stop and turn as well. What he saw was a young man, his hand raised in an affable wave, walking towards them with a smile on his face. He had short blond hair, bright green eyes, and wore the traditional black robes of a fully sanctioned and registered judge.

This was probably the man they had been searching for. The look of recognition that suddenly crossed Temenos’s face also indicated as much.

“Ah, Judge Liêm,” he greeted with his own friendly smile. “A pleasure to see you again. It certainly has been a while, hasn’t it.”

“Two years to be exact,” the judge replied, coming to a stop in front of them. “It is good to see you well. I know things have been difficult for the church and the Inquisition since the pontiff’s passing. You have my condolences.”

He offered a brief bow as a show of sympathy before straitening back up, and apparently knowing that Temenos was unlikely to respond to such a thing (even though he had clearly still wanted to acknowledge what happened), he continued with, “May I ask what brings you all the way to Timberain? Did you come to see the coronation?”

“In a manner of speaking,” the cleric replied. “You see, the apothecary who warned the soldiers about the attack yesterday is a dear friend of mine. We have been traveling together, along with several others, and so we primarily came to aid the kingdom.”

“Wait, so you were wrapped up in that whole mess yesterday?”

“To an extent. That being said, I did have another reason for coming to Timberain. I was actually looking for you, in the hopes that you might spare some time to discuss a legal matter with me. You are in fact the only judge that I would trust to assess the situation fairly.”

“Of course. I would be happy to help.” No questions, no suspicion, just an immediate agreement to assist. He clearly trusted the inquisitor a great deal. “Why don’t we speak at the courthouse? One of the meeting rooms should be available for use.”

“You are certain you aren’t too busy?”

“Not at all. Due to the coronation, our ongoing trials were all put on a temporary hold, so I have nothing on my schedule for today.”

Well, that explained a lot. Truth be told, Crick hadn’t been entirely sure if Meylan was actually serious or not when he told them that there were no proceedings scheduled, that everyone was out enjoying the festivities instead. However, apparently they really were on an officially sanctioned break by the royal family, so that not a single person in their kingdom would be forced to miss out on the celebration unless they specifically chose not to attend. That made sense, he supposed. It really wasn’t every day that a new king was crowned, and given the tragedy that had almost occurred yesterday, the people of Timberain all deserved a day to relax (even if that might not have been the crown prince’s reason for giving them one. He had probably just wanted as many people as possible to witness his special day. Regardless, the gesture was still a nice one).

“Very well,” said Temenos. “If it is truly no trouble, then please lead the way.”

And so the three of them walked back through the crowds and to the courthouse, where Judge Liêm led them into a private room off to the side. It was a rather lavish thing to his surprise, almost like the kind of studies or audience chambers that one might find in a mansion. Bookshelves, small stands with potted plants, artwork, two comfortable looking couches, and then a table and chairs towards the back.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable,” the judge told them.

“Many thanks,” said Temenos as he leaned the Staff of Judgment against the wall. “But before we get to that, where are my manners? I have yet to introduce you. Crick, this is Judge Liêm, the one I told you about. He and I have worked a few cases together before on behalf of the church. Liêm, this is Crick, a Sanctum Knight who has assisted me greatly throughout my most recent investigations. He is currently acting as my...unofficial knight, so to speak. What I wish to discuss with you is something that we have both been working on together.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Crick,” Liêm said, extending a hand in greeting.

“You as well, sir,” he replied, taking said hand with a firm shake.

“I must admit that I am somewhat surprised, Temenos,” the judge continued, looking back at the inquisitor. “You have always spoken rather poorly about the Sacred Guard and its knights.”

“Yes, well, I have come to learn that there are indeed some exceptions. Crick happens to be one of them. He has proven himself to be quite adaptable and is just as dedicated to finding the truth as I am.”

A warmth flared in his chest at the praise, though he tried to keep it from reflecting too much upon his face. He was standing in front of a judge, after all; he needed to remain professional.

“That is high praise indeed, Inquisitor,” Liêm said before directing his next statement towards Crick. “You must be quite a remarkable knight to have earned so much of his consideration.”

“N-no, I...really, I’m just...” What was he supposed to say to that? It was a compliment to be sure, but there was an almost teasing air to it, not that dissimilar to how Temenos often was, just more subtle, and yet it didn’t really feel like he was the one being teased right now.

The inquisitor cleared his throat as he took a seat on one of the couches and said, somewhat abruptly, “Let us get down to business, shall we? I’m afraid we have much to discuss.”

“Yes, of course,” the judge replied before walking over and taking a seat on the other couch across from the cleric. Crick debated just for a moment whether he wanted to sit or stand. The knightly thing would be to stand behind and just off to the side of Temenos, prepared to act should he need to, but not wanting to be disrespectful to the judge they were attempting to recruit, he made the decision to sit next to his charge instead.

Once they were all situated properly, Liêm asked, “So, what sort of legal matter did you wish to discuss with me?”

“A rather complicated one, unfortunately,” Temenos told him, reaching into a bag that he had been carrying with him ever since they left the tavern and pulling out a very organized and carefully bound stack of papers. “I went through the effort of drafting a formal proposal for you. It will take far too long for you to read through it now, so instead I will give you the primary details of my investigation first.”

The judge took the document, skimmed over the first page briefly, and then told the inquisitor, “Go ahead.”

Crick wondered how it was at all possible to paraphrase what had happened, to cut all of it down into the bare minimum while still communicating the sheer gravity of the situation they had found themselves in, the truth they had discovered. But Temenos, despite often employing an unnecessary amount of words, knew how to cut to the chase when it mattered. There was no sugarcoating or beating around the bush, not this time.

“The pontiff’s murder almost a year ago was orchestrated by Captain Kaldena of the Sacred Guard, along with the aid of several others. She also orchestrated the murders of an apothecary in Canalbrine and a well-known theologian by the name of Lucian, along with many attempted murders, including some of her own subordinates. She then chose to compound her crimes further by enacting a ritual that would grant her the use of a very dark magic, sacrificing the lives of several knights in order to do so. We were able to stop her, but unfortunately she transformed into an abomination during the process—the power she was trying to control got out of hand, you see—and so we had no choice but to stop her, permanently, to avoid the loss of any more lives. A shame, as I would have preferred to put her on trial, but that is simply how these things go sometimes.”

Throughout the very abridged explanation (he really did manage to sum it up in just a few sentences), Crick had kept his attention on Judge Liêm, watching for his reaction to the story. When laid out like that, it almost sounded like the plot of some dark, fanciful novel, rather than anything rooted in reality, but Crick had lived through it, had almost lost his life because of it, and had bore witness to the truth with his own two eyes. There were forces in this world that few could comprehend, that most probably believed only existed in folklore or fantasy and perhaps some of the older histories of the church. But the Shadow was a very real thing, and the nightmares it could produce were horrifying and dangerous. If they hadn’t stopped her when they did, Kaldena could have easily rampaged across Toto’haha, leaving only destruction in her wake.

Such a terrifying thought.

The judge, to his credit, listened patiently and attentively, the slight widening of his eyes the only indication of his shock. However, once Temenos’s brief explanation was done, the man breathed a deep sigh and ran a hand down his face.

“That is a lot to take in,” he told them. “Were you anyone else, I might believe this to be a jest, but I know you would never lie about something like this, not when the pontiff lost his life because of it. What is it that you intend to do, Temenos? You would not have written a proposal if you weren’t looking to hold a formal trial.”

“That is indeed what I want,” the inquisitor replied, looking Liêm directly in the eye. Firmly, and without a shred of uncertainty, he stated, “I intend to put the entirety of the Sacred Guard on trial, and I would like you to preside over it.”

“You...” This time the shock was more evident, both on his face and in his voice. “You would judge all of the Sacred Guard?”

“Yes.”

“It is no small feat to put an entire organization on trial, Temenos.”

“I am well aware, thus the reason I drafted that proposal. I have also already taken steps to ensure that they respond to an official summons. Right now, the Sacred Guard is divided. There are those who were loyal to Kaldena, who knew what she was up to, and those who were ignorant to her plot. You can actually divide it even further beyond that as well, such as those who abused their power over the people and those who actively sought to uphold the church’s values and their vows. The corruption runs deep, in more ways than one. You need only speak to the people of Stormhail to realize how afraid they are of the Sacred Guard and its knights. Something must be done. I wish to remove the corruption by force, but I lack the authority to do so on my own. Thus I have enlisted the aid of a few high-ranking members both amongst the clergy and within the Sacred Guard. I also have several witnesses when it comes to Kaldena’s crimes in particular. If I can remove all of the heresy and strip the organization of its autonomy, then those who are left can rebuild it from the ground up into what it was supposed to be: a sword and shield for the church and the people.”

“And you would have me help you.”

“I would.”

The judge looked down at the proposal in his hands and then back up at Temenos, something cautious and questioning in his eyes.

“This kind of thing would normally be brought before a judge with considerably more experience, and yet you chose to ask me. Did you do so simply because we are acquainted?”

“I did so because you are driven by the same thing that I am,” the inquisitor replied. “The truth. And also like myself, you have never once allowed threats or bribery to sway you from the path you believe to be right. I am certain that you will judge every person fairly. There is no one else I am willing to trust with this, Liêm.”

Temenos did not place his trust lightly, and yet it was obvious that he meant every word. Clearly during whatever cases they had worked together in the past, the two of them had realized that they were similar when it came to what motivated them: an unwavering belief in the truth and a desire to bring it to light.

“You do not have to give me an answer now,” Temenos continued. “I would actually prefer that you read through that document first and then decide if you wish to be involved. I have already painted a target upon my back with this, and I certainly wouldn’t blame you for not wanting to do the same.”

“You know that sort of thing has never mattered to me. However, I would like to read through your notes, given the effort it would have taken to write this. I also wish to familiarize myself with the details before making a decision. I should be able to give you an answer tomorrow.”

“There is no need to rush. We shall likely be in Timberain for a few days at least. You should instead be enjoying your day off.”

“Oh, I intend to,” Liêm said with a smile. “However, I can’t deny that I’m curious about what you told me. You’ve obviously been through quite a lot this past year.”

“I suppose I have, though thankfully not all of it was harrowing. Traveling the world with a group of companions has been quite enjoyable, all things considered.”

“I can only imagine. Perhaps I will have to do a bit of traveling myself in the future.”

“I highly recommend it, should you ever find the time.”

With a smile still on his face, Judge Liêm got up from the couch, the proposal held carefully in his hands. Crick had only just met the man, but he could tell that the judge would take every word written in that document seriously, that he would absorb it all and then come to an informed decision. Though he was indeed young for a judge, he was clearly knowledgeable and cared a great deal about the entire process, about upholding the law and finding the truth. They couldn’t ask for anyone better than that to oversee the trial against the Sacred Guard. Hopefully he would say yes.

“It was good to see you again, Temenos,” he said as the inquisitor got to his feet, with Crick following suit not long after. “And a pleasure meeting you as well, Crick. Do take care of yourselves, alright? This is certainly a rather dangerous business you have gotten involved in.”

“I thank you for the concern, Liêm,” Temenos replied. “We shall do our best. I will be sure to let you know when we plan to depart, in case I haven’t heard from you by then.”

“I was serious about giving you a response tomorrow, Temenos.”

“Oh, very well,” the cleric sighed, clearly believing that he was being rather stubborn and a bit ridiculous about this, using his day off to read a rather lengthy proposal. “Then I look forward to hearing from you tomorrow.”

After a few more pleasantries and a couple farewells, they took their leave of the courthouse and found themselves on the streets once more, surrounded by people. Almost immediately, Temenos released a deep sigh and took a seat on a nearby bench. He looked...relieved, but also somewhat drained, which didn’t make much sense to Crick. Overall, everything had gone quite well, at least from his perspective. Sure, he hadn’t really had anything to contribute to the conversation, due to having very little understanding of how the legal process worked (better to say nothing than to accidently say the wrong thing), but Liêm’s response had seemed quite positive overall.

So then why did Temenos suddenly look so tired? Had he actually been...nervous about speaking to the judge? That wasn’t really a word he associated with the inquisitor. Temenos was usually so self-assured when it came to his job, to the point where he sometimes came off as borderline arrogant, but that certainly didn’t seem to be the case right now.

Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to ask.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, not particularly,” was the response he got, which he should have been expecting. So Crick tried another question. That relieved but tired sounding sigh could only mean a few things.

The most obvious one was, “Did you think he was going to say no?”

“I wouldn’t put it quite like that, but...I was preparing myself for it, I suppose. Ater all, he has no reason to accept my request. There is nothing easy about what we are trying to do, and it does carry a certain level of risk. I certainly wouldn’t be surprised if he said no, especially since he has no real stake in this.”

That was all true enough, and yet...

“He didn’t really strike me as someone who would care about that.”

“He isn’t, for the most part. That is why I chose to approach him with this. I do not know if there is another judge I would be willing to trust, and attempting to do things outside of a court would be...difficult, to say the least. In a worst-case scenario, it could lead to a great deal of bloodshed within the Order. I would like to avoid that if possible. I already have my doubts that Kaldena’s followers will just come quietly once summoned, but at least before a court of law, they would be limited in their ability to retaliate.”

...Retaliate?

That was...admittedly an angle he hadn’t been giving a lot of thought to, the possibility having crossed his mind only briefly in the past. But perhaps it bore more serious consideration now. While Crick firmly believed that those who were guilty, who had chosen to turn their backs on the Sacred Flame and what it stood for were in the minority when it came to the Sacred Guard, he was also well aware that numbers didn’t always matter. It did not take a great many people to cause harm. Sometimes it only took one. That being said...

“Why retaliate at all?” he asked. “Wouldn’t something like that only compound their crimes?”

“Yes, but you will find that a desperate person does not often act rationally. They may choose to do so out of a number of things: spite, hatred, revenge, perhaps even loyalty to Kaldena. I am not well liked amongst the Sacred Guard, remember. That alone might be reason enough for some to lash out.”

Crick’s hands curled into fists at the thought. Such a thing was not going to happen. He wouldn’t let it. His reason for being here was to protect Temenos, and he would not fail. No matter what.

“Well, I suppose there is little point in worrying about it at the moment,” the inquisitor said as he got back to his feet. “Come, let us return to the tavern for now and see what everyone else is up to.”

The knight wanted to say something. He wanted to, but he wasn’t sure what. A part of him wanted to promise Temenos that no harm would befall him, that he didn’t need to worry about retaliation because Crick would be there to protect him, but he knew that the cleric would probably just tell him once again that he didn’t require protection. Even though he sometimes did. Because Temenos, despite being a healer, occasionally put himself in harm’s way for the sake of others, and unfortunately it didn’t always work out. Which was why Crick had a tendency to worry about him, perhaps overly so. He could admit that he was a bit overprotective. He was working on it though—or trying to, anyway.

In the end, he chose not to say anything. He simply followed after Temenos (like he so often did) as they made their way back to the tavern.

What they found upon arriving was the sight of Agnea and Throné pulling all of their bags out of the storage closet.

“Perfect timing, you two!” Agnea said cheerfully upon catching sight of them. “A few rooms just opened up at the inn. Hikari and Ochette already took some things over, but we’ve still got quite a few bags left.”

“No complaining, Detective,” said Throné, cutting off any comments the inquisitor might have been preparing to make about not being cut out for physical labor. “You can at least carry a few things.”

“Oh, very well,” the cleric sighed before grabbing one of his own bags and one of Castti’s. “I suppose it would be unfair of me not to assist, seeing as how it is just the two of you here. Where did everyone else run off to, exactly?”

“Castti and Partitio are still talking to Ori,” she replied. “And Osvald actually found a few stalls he wanted to visit. One of them was selling ground coffee.”

“Ah, I see. I assume he must be looking for a type that is easy to brew while on the road, since our next objective will involve a rather long walk to Hinoeuma. Perhaps we should see about borrowing a horse or camel once we reach Ryu to help carry some of our supplies...”

“That’s not a bad idea. Most of us aren’t really used to the heat. It’d be nice not having to carry all our stuff through the desert, especially the camping equipment.”

That it would. While Crick certainly didn’t mind hauling bags around, he honestly wasn’t sure how well any of them would fair in the hot, dry heat of Hinoeuma. He knew that the travelers had all been to Sai before, but the journey to Ku was going to be a significantly longer one. Most of them weren’t used to that kind of heat. Crick certainly wasn’t.

That being said, he was rather looking forward to the journey. He had always wanted to visit the desert region, and the kingdom of Ku was supposed to be quite grand. Of course, he knew they weren’t going there to sightsee. They were going there to fight. Hikari’s goal was to see Mugen toppled from the throne while spilling as little blood as possible. A difficult task to be sure, but also a welcome one. None of them enjoyed taking lives, and there was a good chance that many of the people following Mugen were only doing so out of fear. The current king cared little for his men. According to Hikari, his ambition was the only thing that mattered to him. He wanted to see the entire world kneel at his feet, even if that meant setting it ablaze.

In some ways, it was hard to fathom. Hikari and Mugen were brothers, bound by blood, and yet they couldn’t be any more different.

“There,” said Throné after grabbing an armful of stuff. “I think one more trip should do it. Come on, let’s get over there.”

“I wonder what’s keeping Hikari and Ochette,” said Agnea. “They left quite a while ago, didn’t they?”

“Yeah. I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

As it turned out, the thing that had been keeping them was a letter.

Upon walking into the inn, they found the prince and the beastling standing near the front desk, and in Hikari’s hands was some sort of envelope. It was a rather unassuming thing, completely plain aside from a wax seal which was still unbroken, meaning that he had yet to open it. Instead he was simply standing there, looking pensive, as Ochette and Mahina watched with what might have been a curious expression on both their faces (not that he actually knew how to read an owl’s expressions, but cocking one’s head to the side was usually an expression of curiosity).

“Is something wrong?” asked Agnea as the four of them walked over, setting their bags down for the moment in favor of seeing just what was going on.

“We’re not sure yet,” Ochette told her. “The innkeeper gave Hikarin a letter, but we don’t know who it’s from.”

Throné was quick to round on the innkeeper behind the desk and ask rather bluntly, “How can you not know who gave it to you?”

“Because the one who gave it to me was just a messenger,” the woman replied with a huff, completely unintimidated by the thief’s tone. “They handed me that letter a few days ago, along with a tidy sum of leaves, and said that a swordsman from Ku called ‘Hikari’ would be arriving for the coronation. Told me to give it to him and no one else.”

“That’s a bit ominous,” said Temenos, “not to mention careless for a messenger. And you weren’t curious at all? Didn’t try to read it for yourself?”

“No. It’s not any of my business. Do you go around reading other people’s mail?”

Throné hid a very amused smile behind her hand, trying and failing to muffle the breath of laughter that escaped her at that accusation. Temenos shot her a look after giving a rather unimpressed one to the innkeeper, before he gave his full attention to Hikari. This time the expression that crossed his face was a long-suffering one, though Crick was pretty sure it was just for show. That was often the case when it came to Temenos.

“You used your real name in the guest logbook again, didn’t you Hikari?” the inquisitor said, and while it might have been asked like one, it was not a question. He clearly already knew the answer, and despite the note of reprimand in his voice, there was a touch of amusement there as well. “I thought we all warned you about that.”

“It...may have slipped my mind,” the prince said, looking a little sheepish. “It has been a while since I’ve handled our arrangements.”

Crick almost asked why such a thing would matter—writing one’s name in the logbook was common practice as it helped the innkeeper keep track of rooms—but then he remembered that Hikari technically had a bounty on his head, that he had been accused of treason by his brother, and that his full name would absolutely give his identity away. Under those circumstances, it was necessary to play it safe, even if no one had come after the prince directly yet. Traveling around and never staying in one place for too long had probably helped with that.

“Who do you think sent it?” asked Agnea as she moved closer to see the letter, which still remained unopened.

“There’s only one person I can think of who would’ve been able to predict that we’d be here and send a messenger all this way,” Hikari said. “Kazan. It has to be from him.”

“Then what are you waiting for, Hikarin?” asked Ochette with a bright grin now that the mystery of who had sent the letter was solved. “He’s your friend, right? You should open it.”

The prince still looked rather pensive, his gaze solemn as he turned the envelope over in his hands, but after one final moment of contemplation, he carefully broke the seal and pulled out a rather simple, ordinary-looking letter.

It only took him a few seconds to read it, implying that it was actually quite short, and amidst that serious, focused gaze of his, Crick swore he saw some exasperation bleed through.

Sure enough, as soon as he was done reading, Hikari breathed a somewhat put-upon sigh.

“I suppose I should have expected as much,” he said. “I guess he couldn’t provide a lot of details just in case it were to fall into the wrong hands.”

“What does it say?” asked Throné.

Rather than read it, the prince handed the letter over, and the four of them crowded around the thief in order to read it along with her.

The message was simple.

The moment ripens. The eagle invites his friends to partake. Come to Ku, where the feast awaits.

Simple, vague, almost poetic, but also very to the point. Somehow, he wasn’t really surprised. Crick knew a little about Kazan from some of the stories that Hikari had told him. They often chatted while they sparred, sharing interesting anecdotes during their breaks. Kazan was a strategist, one of the brightest minds not just in Ku but probably the world over, someone who had helped teach Hikari the art of war and how to achieve victory with minimal casualties. He was brilliant, cryptic, enjoyed a good drink and a game of chance, but he was also the type to take care of people, who had apparently brought down an entire gladiatorial gambling ring in Montwise in order to free the gladiators with the prince’s help. An enigma to be sure, but one that Hikari trusted, someone who was capable of helping him free his kingdom from an endless cycle of bloodshed. And now, it was finally time to see that mission fulfilled.

“No timeframe,” Throné noted. “But since it’s Kazan, I’m sure he probably knows how long it would take us to reach Ku from Timberain. We can plot a course after dinner tonight, since we’ll need to make sure we pick up supplies along the way. We were actually just talking about borrowing a horse or camel in Ryu to help carry our things during the trip.”

“A wise suggestion,” the prince said. “The sands can be difficult to traverse. That would certainly make the journey easier.”

“I suppose we will want to set out as soon as possible,” began Temenos, “provided we are able to get everything figured out tonight. I guess it is rather fortunate then that Judge Liêm is such a workaholic and said he would give me an answer tomorrow.”

“Oh?” Throné turned her attention to the inquisitor and said, “So you were able to find your judge then.”

“Indeed we did—or rather he found us, I should say. Now it is simply a matter of seeing whether or not he will accept my request. I am not one to get my hopes up, but I would very much like a favorable response. However, that is a problem for tomorrow. Come, we still have several bags waiting for us at the tavern. Let us proceed with getting everything transferred to our rooms, shall we?”

As they proceeded to haul their bags up the stairs, Crick found himself thinking back to their conversation with the judge. He could tell that Temenos was worried, just a bit, because what he had said while sitting on that bench outside the courthouse wasn’t wrong. Liêm had no stake in this, and any sane person would probably say no. It was going to be a massive undertaking, and the trial itself would probably be quite long. It would take a lot of effort to see justice done, to make sure everything happened the way it needed to. A judge who was unbiased, who could not be swayed one way or another and would judge each person fairly was a necessity. That was the only way for the truth in its entirety to be brought to light.

He prayed that Liêm would say yes. He didn’t want to even consider an alternative.

Fortunately, it seemed that he wouldn’t have to.

In the end, Liêm didn’t even wait until tomorrow. After the nine of them had eaten dinner together, after they had all sat down with a map and figured out the best route to take in order to reach Ku, the door to the inn opened just as they were getting ready to head upstairs and retire to their beds.

Judge Liêm strode in with purpose in his stride, first heading towards the front desk but then quickly making a beeline for Temenos the moment he caught sight of the cleric.

“First,” he began, holding up a hand to stop the inquisitor from interrupting while brandishing Temenos’s proposal in the other, “I want you to know that I think you’re reckless. Honestly, some of the things you have written in here... I may have garnered a reputation for being unflinching in the face of violence, but you have taken that to an absurd level. You have to be one of the most unorthodox clerics I have ever met.”

“He gets that a lot,” Throné commented, clearly amused, which earned her a look from Temenos before he gave his attention back to Liêm.

“I hope your reason for coming over here at this hour was not just to insult me,” he said, one brow raised as he stood there with his arms crossed over his chest. Crick was pretty sure he didn’t actually consider any of it to be an insult though, despite what he had said. Temenos seemed to derive a great deal of joy from subverting people’s expectations.

“Of course not. I came to say yes, because how could I not after everything I just read? So feel free to take this as my official statement: Yes, Temenos, I will agree to preside over the trial and have a summons sent to the Sacred Guard with a detailed list of every crime they are being accused of, not the least of which is the assassination of the pontiff. While I cannot promise that the organization will not be completely dissolved, as that decision will lie in the hands of the church as a whole, I do believe that the outcome you listed would be the better one so that those who are innocent will not be punished for their captain’s crimes.”

Temenos was so very good at appearing unaffected, but in that moment his relief was a very real thing. As was the smile that spread across his face, alight with gratitude.

“You have my thanks, Liêm,” he said. “Though I know you are not simply doing this as a favor to me. Still, I am in your debt, so if there is anything more you need for this, please let me know. I will do what I can.”

“Good. Then you can come to the courthouse tomorrow bright and early. I know you are unlikely to be in the city long, so before you leave, I would discuss a timeframe with you and some of the finer details for the summons.”

“I suppose that is only fair. I shall be there, you have my word.”

“Then I shall see you tomorrow, Temenos.”

And with that, he took his leave.

Crick almost found himself breathing a sigh of relief, even though a part of him had truly been holding on to the belief that Liêm would say yes. It was liberating, in a sense, to know that they had just taken yet another step forward, that slowly but surely everything was falling into place. There was still a lot of work left to do, obviously, not least of which would be the trial itself, but for now he was simply happy that they had found their judge, one who could very well help them achieve their goal.

All that hard work, all those evenings spent drafting and redrafting their reports, putting it all together into a cohesive document, had finally paid off.

“Well,” began Temenos with a quiet sigh, “I guess I am going to be quite busy tomorrow morning, between practicing magic and then speaking with Liêm. A good thing we decided to set off in the afternoon then.”

“Take all the time you need to, Temenos,” Hikari told him. “A single day won’t make much of a difference. If we have to leave on the one after instead, I’m sure it’ll be fine. This is important.”

“Your business is important as well, but I thank you for the consideration. I shall try not to take too long at the courthouse. With any luck, we will be able to agree on the details quickly.”

Hopefully that would be the case. The “details,” so to speak, would primarily involve a date for the trial to take place and the summons that was to be delivered to the Sacred Guard. Notice would also need to be given to the upper echelons of the church, so that those higher up in the clergy would be able to attend as well. While it was true that they were bringing everything before a court, this was still an inquiry, a task meant for the Inquisition, and so it was important to ensure they had the Order’s full support for this massive endeavor.

There really was so much more work left to be done, but one day, it would be over. One day, everything that Kaldena had orchestrated, the rot that she had allowed to fester, would be torn out and put behind them, where it belonged. Crick firmly believed that. He believed in Temenos’s ability to make it happen. He knew that the inquisitor would not rest until the darkness was purged and the truth was brought to light. And he was willing to work tirelessly at his side to see it done.

No matter what, he would not waver.

By the Sacred Flame, they would see it done.

Chapter Text

Over the last month and a half or so, Crick had settled into something of a routine. Said routine involved early morning training sessions with Hikari. Sometimes circumstances prevented them from being able to spar, or sometimes they would agree to do so in the afternoon or evening instead, but for the most part they had been trying to keep up with it daily in order to stay sharp. And because they both simply enjoyed sparring. It made for a far more interesting workout than practicing by oneself, that was for sure.

It really was nice having someone around who enjoyed swordplay as much as he did (he had quickly developed a love for it while training to become a knight). And, as was to be expected from the future king of Ku, Brand’s chosen warrior was an incredibly gifted swordsman. In a serious battle, Crick wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to win.

However, their sparring matches weren’t really about winning or losing. Instead, they were about learning and improving. Hikari had shown a great deal of interest in the more defensive techniques employed by knights, just as Crick had been intrigued by the more agile bladework that was taught in Ku. Honestly, the prince’s entire fighting style was intriguing. He had informed Crick once that it was technically an amalgamation of different techniques and abilities, that he had taken the things he had thought would be useful after each battle and incorporated them into the basics of combat that he had been taught while growing up. Hikari had been swinging a sword for most of his life and was extremely adept when it came to learning new things. His talent and experience showed with every strike.

But this morning, he was definitely distracted.

“Is something troubling you?” Crick asked during a break to catch their breath and grab a drink of water. He was pretty sure he already knew the answer, as well as what the reason might be, but it would be impolite to just say as much.

“...Is it that obvious?” Hikari asked, not even bothering to deny it, probably because he wasn’t particularly prone to lying or hiding things. Ku’s second prince was a very honest man.

“Only because we’ve been training together. Your strikes aren’t as precise today. I can tell that you’re preoccupied.”

“Apologies. I did not intend to let it affect my blade. But I suppose that can’t be helped when my mind is elsewhere.”

“You don’t have to apologize for that,” he assured the prince. “It’s understandable considering the letter you received yesterday. I can’t even imagine what it must be like to carry the weight of an entire kingdom.”

It had to be heavy, to bear the weight of thousands—a weight that, no matter how many years passed, would never truly go away. Such was the responsibility of a king.

And yet Hikari always carried himself so gracefully. One would think that he bore no weight at all. Crick was pretty sure the reason for that was because he didn’t consider his soon-to-be kingship a burden in the slightest. It was a responsibility, yes, but Hikari cared so much for his people that he wanted to help them, to protect them, to lead Ku down a better path. He wanted his home to become a home for all and was willing to do whatever he had to in order to see that dream fulfilled.

He would be an exceptional king, one unlike any who had come before.

But at the end of the day, he was still only human, and so it made sense that he would be nervous, even if just a little. The task before him was a monumental one, after all.

There was a pensive look on Hikari’s face again, similar to when he had been regarding Kazan’s letter yesterday, and then without any prompting, he started to speak.

“When my father first told me that he wished for me to be the next king of Ku, I hesitated. I did not believe that I was worthy to take the throne. As the second prince, normally such a thing would be unheard of, but he chose me because he believed in my vision for a kingdom free of bloodshed. I want to live up to his expectations, to build a better Ku, one that he would be proud of. But in order to achieve that, we’ll have to take the city by force. Lives will be lost. Even though I am prepared to do what I must to free my kingdom...I worry about the sacrifices that might be made. With that final battle now firmly on the horizon, those thoughts are beginning to weigh on me.”

“I think that’s only natural,” he said, wanting to offer at least some solace. Hikari truly did care so much about other people, his words and actions always thoughtful. It was obvious that the last thing he wanted was to go to war against his countrymen, to stain the sands of his homeland with even more crimson. And yet to achieve his goal, there was no other choice. “Truth be told, we would probably all be more concerned if you weren’t worried.”

The prince smiled a bit at that before saying, “I suppose you may be right. War was a constant part of my life while growing up, and so a part of me feels as though I should be used to it. However, I never wanted to get used to it. Every time we went to battle, I prayed it would be the last, and this time...this time it will be. One final battle to put an end to the fighting. I will see Mugen dethroned, and I know I can accomplish it because I have all of you with me. My friends have always given me the strength to see things through.”

It was a nice sentiment, but also one that was rooted in truth. Because people were always stronger together. They were stronger when working towards a common goal, rallying behind a cause or a person. Especially when the goal was just. There were so many who wanted to see Hikari take the throne, who wanted to save Ku and free it from its blood-soaked chains. So many lives had been taken over the years, trampled as if they meant nothing, as if those who were classified as “weak” weren’t deserving of a place in the world. Mugen’s Ku was a place where strength was all that mattered, where that alone determined a person’s worth.

But Hikari would see that changed. He would build a better kingdom where all were valued, where no one was looked down upon, where people from all walks of life could build a home. A peaceful but strong kingdom that all could be proud of and others could aspire to. It was a beautiful dream, and one that would surely become a reality. Perhaps not right away, but someday. Fortunately, Hikari was more than willing to put in the work. As were the people supporting him. Winning the final battle was only the first step. Reformation took time.

But it would be worth it in the end.

“Please know that if you ever need someone to talk to about it—or just someone to swing a sword with for a while—you only have to ask. I would gladly take the time.”

His words earned him a look of gratitude from the prince as he said, “You have my thanks, Crick. I know that these sessions began as a way to help you recover, but I’ve been enjoying them. I have always preferred training with others than on my own.”

“As have I.” Much of his training to become a Sanctum Knight had been with other people, with those who had joined at the same time as him. Practicing on one’s own was fine when it came to learning the basics, but it was hard to improve without an opponent that could push you. For him, that person had been Ort.

And for Hikari, it had been Ritsu.

He had learned quite a lot about the prince’s childhood friend during their sessions. In fact, Crick was pretty sure that, more so than having to face his brother, it was facing Ritsu that Hikari was the most concerned over. Being forced to fight a friend, someone who had once walked the same path but had chosen another, couldn’t possibly be easy. With any luck, the man would see reason and abandon his pursuit of strength, but if luck wasn’t on their side, then...well...

Probably best not to think about it. There was no way to predict what would happen, and the flow of the battle could very well determine a lot of people’s actions. What would be would be, he supposed.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t hope for the best though.

With a smile, Hikari took another drink from his canteen, and then much to Crick’s surprise, he sheathed his training blade.

“I believe it would be best to call it for today,” he told the knight. “You have a meeting with Temenos and the judge this morning, do you not?”

“I...yes, that’s right.” Gods, he had almost forgotten about that. It was so easy to lose track of time in the early morning, especially when it was hard to see the sun through the trees. Maybe he should have bought himself a pocket watch while they were in Wellgrove after all.

“Please tell him again that there is no need to rush,” the prince said. “You should take all the time necessary to ensure that no details are missed.”

“I’ll be sure to let him know.” Whether the inquisitor would listen or not was another matter, of course. Then again, Temenos wasn’t really the type to rush in the first place. He had also probably worked out a lot of the details on his own already. He knew what he was trying to achieve and the steps necessary to get there; it was just a matter of working all of the legal parts into his plan.

Crick honestly doubted that he would have much to contribute to the conversation, but he still wanted to be there regardless. This was his battle too, after all.

The knight sheathed his blade and grabbed his canteen, but instead of following after Hikari, he told the prince to head back without him, that he wanted to take just a few more minutes before returning to the inn. It was a rather beautiful morning, the perfect kind to take a walk, and seeing as how he hadn’t been back to this area in years, he wanted to take one more look at it before they would be moving on. Because at the end of the day, he really did like the Leaflands. The scenery, the air, the beauty of it all was something that hadn’t changed in the time he had been away, and now that he was no longer shackled by his past, it caried a much more relaxing feel to it, something that he wouldn’t mind basking in for just a little while. The fresh air would do him good.

However, his walk ended up being relatively short, because as he was passing through a small clearing, just to the west of the city, something quickly caught his eye and had him coming to a stop.

Standing there just off to the side, leaning back against a rather large tree, was Osvald. Kind of a rare sight. Crick wondered for a moment what the scholar would be doing out in the forest at this hour, but then he remembered that Temenos had planned on getting some magical training in before his meeting with Liêm and that Osvald typically accompanied the cleric on most of his magical excursions. He was essentially there to offer advice and to make sure nothing went wrong, as well as to keep an eye out for monsters. It was never a good idea for a cleric to go off on their own, after all.

(He got the feeling that Temenos would try to argue that).

...Crick should probably just keep walking. He didn’t want to accidentally interrupt them, even if a part of him was curious. And besides, Osvald was kind of...well...

Simply put, the man was kind of intimidating. Just a little bit. He cut a rather imposing figure with that bear-like build of his, and out of all of the travelers, Crick had definitely spoken the least to the scholar. Part of that was because Osvald wasn’t particularly talkative. Another part was because one of the few things he did enjoy talking about, magic, was something that Crick had very little knowledge of. Even though he did have a bit of interest in it. For that reason, he kind of wanted to walk over and observe, but he wasn’t sure if his presence would be welcome. He didn’t want to disturb Temenos while the inquisitor was practicing.

It must have been taking him too long to decide, because in the end, before he could make up his mind on whether to approach or retreat, Osvald’s gaze suddenly shot over to him, freezing him in place. He honestly hadn’t thought that the man had noticed his presence—it’s not like he had been making noise or anything—but evidently that wasn’t the case.

He couldn’t tell what kind of look was on the scholar’s face, if he was irritated by the knight’s staring or not. He knew that he was being a bit awkward about it, loitering in his indecisiveness. Maybe it would be better if he just left and—

“You can watch if you’d like,” Osvald told him. “Though I doubt you’ll find it interesting.”

...Huh. He hadn’t been expecting that. Even more surprising to him was the complete lack of any irritation in his tone—in fact, the scholar almost seemed amused by his behavior—and so after debating for just a moment more, he decided that he may as well accept the invitation. He had no reason not to. It might even give him a chance to speak to Osvald and get to know the man a little better, beyond the few observations he had made over the past month and a half. That alone would be a worthwhile endeavor (provided that he could get past the intimidation. At the very least, he wanted to try).

With his mind made up, the knight walked over to where Osvald was, doing his best not to appear hesitant. In truth, he was more curious than anything, because he had never actually watched one of their training sessions before. That being said, there wasn’t exactly much to watch—not at the moment, anyway. He could understand why Osvald had said he might not find it interesting.

Standing a good distance away was Temenos. His eyes were closed, his expression one of deep concentration, silent and still as he focused. Not that dissimilar to when he was lost in thought, really.

Was this what he had been doing lately during his training sessions? What exactly was he...

“What is he doing right now?” he asked quietly, curious.

“Concentrating,” Osvald replied just as quietly. “Attempting to find the right method for using the divine spell of the Scholarking.”

“Has he had any luck?”

“No, and unfortunately there is little I can do to help him. I was able to master it rather quickly, and while I won’t deny that part of that might be due to my ‘blessing,’ anyone with sufficient magical talent is capable of learning it.”

...Crick wanted to ask. He wanted to ask so many more questions, but at the same time he didn’t want to sound ignorant. He knew so little about this, but he wanted to know more.

He may as well try.

“Isn’t there some...some kind of method for learning it, like a specific incantation or a mindset that could help make it work?”

“There isn’t,” was the response he got. “There are guidelines, just as there are with any form of magic, but there is no singular method when it comes to learning spells. And anyone who tries to tell you otherwise is a fool. Many scholars at Montwise would have you believe that studying is required, but there are people like Agnea and Ochette who can both use magic despite never having studied it a day in their lives. Agnea simply has an innate talent for wind magic, and Ochette came up with the idea herself to shape lightning into the form of a bird. The latter is something I would like to look into more when I have the time, as shaping spells in such a way was something I had never considered before.

“So you see, there is no right or wrong way to learn magic. I would say that having at least some understanding of the source is the only real requirement, but even that can vary depending on the person. We all relate to those sources in different ways, which essentially makes magic a skill that anyone can learn, provided they are willing to put in the time to learn it. I imagine that is why so many find it fascinating. The pursuit of knowledge will always be a worthwhile one.”

...The knight was speechless. That had to be by far the most he had ever heard the scholar speak. Osvald really was passionate about magic, about the many different facets to it, and after hearing his thoughts on the matter, Crick fully understood why. It was really no wonder that he and Temenos got along as well as they seemed to, despite being such opposites in personality. They were both driven by a desire for information, for knowledge, for the truth. They both wanted this to work, for the inquisitor to master all of his magical endeavors, to see what was possible when it came to using Heavenly Shine. That desire to reach new heights, to test one’s limits, was admirable, even though it was also dangerous.

Not that something being dangerous had ever stopped the inquisitor before. It hadn’t stopped any of the travelers, really. They were all willing to do what was necessary to see their goals fulfilled.

He was willing to as well.

“...I guess magic is even more complicated than I thought,” he said, which earned him what could almost be considered a laugh from the scholar.

“That’s what you chose to take away from it?” Osvald asked, sounding just the slightest bit amused. “Though I suppose you aren’t wrong. Some spells can indeed be complicated, especially when paired with mathematics. The calculations necessary to make spells like the Advanced Magic enchantment work do require some memorization. I was not the first to use formulae with magic, though I did take it in a different direction compared to most. I’ve given Temenos all of the ones I thought would benefit him, and while that does give him an advantage when learning Alephan’s Wisdom, I’m afraid they aren’t enough on their own. He’ll have to find the answer for himself.”

“An answer that I shall not be finding today, unfortunately.”

Startled, Crick turned towards that familiar voice and found Temenos staring at the two of them, though thankfully the cleric didn’t look upset over the fact that they had essentially been talking about him while he was standing there concentrating. He did look a bit disappointed though, probably because he had once again had no luck. It had to be frustrating to an extent, to keep coming up empty handed.

“I take it that means you’re done for the day?” asked Osvald.

“I have a meeting to attend, so yes, but I may try again this evening,” the inquisitor replied. “I would like to make at least some progress before we reach Ku.”

Progress on Alephan’s Wisdom? Why would he need to...surely he did not intend—

“You aren’t planning on using Heavenly Shine during the battle, are you?” Because that was kind of a horrifying thought. Heavenly Shine had obliterated an entire horde of monsters—imagine the kind of devastation it could cause to an army, especially if its power was boosted.

Temenos gave him a look and said, “Of course not. I would never use that spell against ordinary people. However, Alephan’s Wisdom has many other uses. For example, it can increase the potency of my healing spells, which I will no doubt need in order to keep our allies on their feet. I am well aware of what my role will be during the battle. A cleric is first and foremost meant to heal. I shall be leaving the actual fighting to the rest of you this time.”

Good, the knight almost said, because that was certainly a relief to hear. The fight to reclaim Ku would be on a much larger scale than any of the battles they had fought so far, meaning that it would be all the more difficult to keep everyone safe. But if Temenos planned on healing, focusing solely on support and defense, then protecting him would be a lot easier. Crick would be able to keep an eye on him during the fight.

Perfect.

“And what has brought you out here, little lamb? Curious about my training? I can’t imagine it was very interesting.”

“I was actually on my way back from sparring with Hikari,” he replied. “But I was also curious, so I decided to watch. Osvald said it was alright.”

The inquisitor shot a somewhat suspicious look towards the scholar before breathing a sigh and making his way over. He wondered if Temenos didn’t particularly like the fact that he had been watching, if it bothered him to have people bear witness to his training. That couldn’t be right though, given that several of them had been present during many of his sessions while practicing Heavenly Shine. Perhaps it was simply because he was struggling this time. Maybe he didn’t like other people watching him fail.

Not that Crick would count this as a failure. Far from it, in fact. Learning something new often came with a good deal of difficulty, and he found it admirable that Temenos showed no signs of wanting to give up. He was just as adamant as he always was. That perseverance would surely see him through.

The inquisitor grabbed the Staff of Judgment from where he had left it leaning against the tree near Osvald and then turned towards Crick.

“Come, let us return to the inn,” he said. “We have a meeting to prepare for. Hopefully it will not take too long. Knowing Liêm, he will already have much of it underway by the time we get there.”

The knight wondered if that would truly be the case. Liêm had come to the inn rather late last night and was meeting with the two of them quite early this morning. That didn’t exactly leave a lot of time to start preparing. Although, truth be told, he had probably starting preparing while he was reading through the proposal. That felt like the kind of person he was. Crick wondered just when he had decided to support them, what part had made him want to be onboard. Perhaps he simply wanted justice for the pontiff, who he had clearly known to some extent, or maybe this was about achieving justice in general for all the wrongs that had been wrought.

Regardless of his reasons, however, Crick knew that the fate of the Sacred Guard was in good hands. Those who were guilty would be judged, and those who were innocent would be free to make their own choices, to stay and rebuild or find a different path. He would continue to hope for a favorable outcome.

That was all he could do, really.

(He would be sure to offer up several prayers in the weeks to come though, just in case).

When Temenos had first met Liêm, back when the pontiff had introduced the two of them, he had thought that the man was far too young to be a competent judge. He had also thought him to be too stiff and serious, that he would be the type who, once set in his ways, would be incapable of looking beyond his own perceptions, his own beliefs, in order to find the actual truth.

That his judgment would be biased and colored with prejudice.

He had been wrong. Instead, what he had found was someone adaptable, unafraid, and willing to do whatever it took to see true justice done, no matter how dangerous the task might be. Liêm was unwavering in his convictions, was willing to work with the Inquisition and the church, and he even had a sense of humor when one got to know him better.

All in all, the two of them had ended up getting along. Plus, watching him enact a different type of justice upon being attacked by a few ruffians during a case, proving that his bravery in the face of violence wasn’t just for show, had certainly helped.

Judge Liêm was a man who could be relied upon.

Case in point, he had already familiarized himself with all of the finer points of the investigation. Writing such a thorough proposal, despite being very time-consuming, had definitely been a good idea.

“This is quite a long list,” the judge said, looking over the details for what would eventually become an official summons. It was essentially a collection of every crime the Sacred Guard was being accused of.

“Do you believe we should condense it?” Temenos asked, reading over some of the examples. In truth, they could probably combine a few, but he wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted to.

“No, I think we should leave it be. It’s important to display the gravity of the charges against them, and I would rather not belittle any of these crimes. They all matter to someone. Abusing one’s position and power, accusing people of heresy and executing them without a fair trial... Even things like selling off equipment and books that rightfully belong to the church can carry huge ramifications.”

The inquisitor looked over to his Godsblade.

“You are certain of this one, Crick?”

“Yes,” the knight replied. “I actually overheard them talking when I was looking for clues in the library that night, before I found the shrine. I had planned on reporting it later, but... Well, obviously I never got the chance.”

No, he hadn’t. Instead, he had gotten a blade through his chest. Best not to think about that. The fact that Crick could speak about it relatively plainly now was proof that he was moving on from what happened, from being betrayed and almost bleeding to death in the snow. That meant that Temenos needed to move on from it too, even though he could still recall that moment with absolute clarity, the fear and anger and desperation as he poured all of his magic into healing what no one else could.

That was the first time he had actually felt grateful to Aelfric for blessing him, where he had started to view it as an actual “blessing” instead of a burden. If he could save the lives that mattered to him, keep the people in his life safe, then he would play the part of the Flamebringer’s chosen and do what needed to be done. That was a fair enough trade, was it not?

“I must admit,” began Liêm, “a part of me still has a hard time believing all of it. To think that a holy organization could get away with this... I imagine Kaldena probably had a hand in allowing many of these crimes to go unpunished. Her own agenda must have been the only thing she truly cared about.”

“I assure you that this time it will be different,” Temenos stated. “Should the Sacred Guard be allowed to continue, they will not be left alone in their isolation—the church will make sure of that. Stripping them of their autonomy will help considerably. Leaving them unchecked for so long is what ultimately led to this situation. I sometimes wonder if that is why the Inquisition was established, because His Holiness realized that he could not trust them, that there needed to be some way to potentially hold them accountable should things get out of hand. A shame there is no way to find out, but I suppose it doesn’t matter much now. What’s done is done.”

“Indeed, but for what it’s worth, I think you might be right. Granted, I did not know the pontiff as well as you did, but he was a clever man. Careful too. He must have spent a great deal of time investigating this matter as well.”

“I am certain he did.” A shame, however, that he had never shared all of the details with him, that in his attempts to protect Temenos, he had ultimately left him with more questions than answers. He wondered just how much the man had known, how much he had been able to figure out, because the timing of his death was incredibly suspicious. After all, he had died right after telling Temenos that there was something important he needed to discuss with him, which meant that someone had clearly been keeping tabs on his activities and behavior so that they could choose to get rid of him if the secrets he had found were about to be exposed. There was no way it had been a coincidence.

That was why Temenos had decided not to tell anyone, not even Mindt, the true purpose of his journey, because simply put, he hadn’t known who he could trust. He had feared that the information would reach someone he didn’t want it to were he to speak the truth to a single soul—with one very obvious and rather noteworthy exception.

Crick.

He had pretty much told Crick his intentions without even attempting to hide it. He just...hadn’t felt the need to. Perhaps it was because they had found the pontiff together, had taken down a Felvarg together, had investigated the situation together, and because he had proven to be an earnest young man who was true to his word. A Sanctum Knight who hadn’t shown any disdain for the Inquisition, who had actually wanted to meet the inquisitor, and who believed in embodying what it meant to be a knight. Unlike Temenos, he hadn’t tried to be anything other than who and what he was. It was a trait that the cleric, despite finding it somewhat foolish, also greatly admired. It was why he had known that he could trust him. There wasn’t a malicious, deceitful bone in the man’s body.

He had always found honesty to be a very charming trait.

“Well, I think that about covers all of the major details for the trial,” said Liêm. “I will handle putting it all together into an official summons and have it delivered to the Sacred Guard. All I need is a timeframe on when you would like for it to take place.”

“At least a month from now,” Temenos replied, having already given this a considerable amount of thought. “Our next destination is Ku, which will be quite the trek, and our business there may take some time. After that, I would like to return to Flamechurch and speak with my colleagues personally before returning here for the trial.”

“Very well. I should be able to work with that.” The judge pulled out a small book, which appeared to be a schedule of sorts, and looked over the following two months. After all, it wasn’t just Temenos’s schedule that needed to be worked around. This was going to be a very lengthy trial. A significant amount of time would need to be set aside.

He would have to remember to keep his own schedule mostly clear. Hopefully he would be allotted enough days to see Hikari be crowned as king once they reclaimed Ku. He did not want to be forced to leave before his friend’s coronation.

“Let’s see, how about...” began Liêm as he scanned through the dates before apparently settling on one. “Here we go, this day should work. It will give you almost six weeks to finish whatever business you need to attend to and then return to Timberain. Will that be enough time?”

“I certainly hope so. I would hate for it to take longer than that.” Six weeks would be plenty of time, assuming they didn’t run into too much trouble. After all, once they finally made it to Ku, things would start to progress quite rapidly. The battle for the throne would probably only take a single day. Perhaps even half a day. That was the kind of fight it would be, since their goal was to topple Mugen and nothing more. From there, they would then help the kingdom start to rebuild, just enough to get it back on its feet so that Hikari could be crowned, so that stability could start returning to the desert nation once more. He was estimating about two weeks in total for all of it.

Two weeks, and then the nine of them would probably be going their separate ways for a while. Many of them would likely remain in Ku to help Hikari, but he knew that Partitio wanted to do a bit of recruiting for his company, and that both he and Osvald had a friend in Montwise named Regulus that they wanted to visit. The details had yet to be worked out, obviously, since there was no telling what would happen in Ku, but the fact of the matter was that their ragtag group would be breaking up for a while, though thankfully none of them would be going off alone. And they would of course all promise to meet up again. After all, there were quite a few loose threads that still needed to be tied up.

Finding the leader of the Moonshade Order was one of them. As was stopping the potential resurrection of the dark god. However, that was a problem to be sorted out another day. There was little point in worrying about it now. Best not to get too lost in thought when they were just about done with their meeting, when everything was almost squared away. Choosing a date had been the final step.

“Then it looks like we’re settled,” said Liêm as he marked the date down on his schedule. “I’ll get this documented right away and submit everything directly to the court. From there, it’ll just be a matter of drafting and sending the summons. So long as all of the pieces you put into play are moving, there shouldn’t be any issues with the timeline.”

“I suppose we shall see soon enough, won’t we. While I do trust those I informed, there are many variables that are unfortunately out of my control. Nevertheless, I believe it shall all work out. The steps I took were not made in haste, and there are many who wish to see that justice is done—not just for the pontiff, but for all who have been wronged. The truth will be brought to light.”

He would make sure of it.

Across from him, a smile began to form on Liêm’s face.

“I must say, Temenos,” he began, “you’ve certainly changed quite a bit since the last time I saw you.”

“Oh? How so?”

“You’re a little more...how to put this...? While I wouldn’t exactly say that you were pessimistic before, just highly cynical, you’re definitely more...optimistic than the man I remember.”

How curious... Was that how he had been coming off during their discussions?

He supposed there was probably some truth to it. After all, some of his thoughts had been leaning that way as of late. That was just the kind of thing that happened though after being surrounded by so many bright, incredible souls. How could their optimism not start rubbing off on him after spending so long in their presence?

Regardless, a part of him wanted to deny it, to pretend he didn’t know what Liêm was talking about (such was his nature, after all), but instead the cleric quickly found himself smiling as a pleased sort of warmth settled somewhere in his chest.

“You can thank my companions for that,” he replied. “I have seen them do some incredible things on this journey. I want to believe that my own goals are just as achievable.”

He wanted to believe that everything would work out, because so much already had. Osvald had saved his daughter, Throné had taken her freedom, Ochette protected her island, Agnea became a star, Partitio bought the rights to the steam engine, Castti stopped Trousseau, and Hikari was soon to become a king. His own story wasn’t finished yet, but it would be eventually. His journey for the truth was slowly but surely coming to an end. This was just one more step on that path.

And with so many people supporting him, he was not about to fail.

“I certainly hope they are,” said Liêm. “And I intend to do everything I can to help you. This will be a fair trial, I promise. I would never allow it to be otherwise.”

“You have my thanks. Truly, if there is ever anything you need from me, you have only but to ask.”

“I shall keep that in mind.”

Liêm closed his scheduling book, gathered his things, and stood up from the couch.

“Stay safe on your travelers, the both of you,” he said. “I expect to see you back here in six weeks.”

“Fear not,” Temenos replied. “We will be here. I give you my word.”

Another smile, before the judge bowed his head, just a bit, and said, “May the Sacred Flame guide you, Temenos.”

It was a familiar sentiment, one that he himself often said halfheartedly, having heard it throughout most of his life. Sometimes he did it just to get an exasperated reaction from people, because he found it amusing, but other times he did actually mean the words when they were said.

Liêm knew that, and so he would surely know that this time it was meant. Even if it was just a cordial response.

“And you as well, Liêm.”

Sometimes, it was worth being sincere.

“...You really have changed.”

“Oh, honestly... Do be quiet, will you?”

For the most part.

It had definitely been a while since the last time they had traveled through Hinoeuma, and in that time, the region had not become any more hospitable, much to Temenos’s disappointment. Thankfully, however, it hadn’t become any less hospitable either. It was tolerable, provided that they didn’t try to travel through the worst parts of the day. They had definitely learned their lesson in that regard. The sun was rather unforgiving, which made the middle of the day terrible for walking, but fortunately there were plenty of rock formations and old ruined buildings scattered about, some that were big enough to take shelter beneath.

Did it slow their progress somewhat? Yes.

Did they plan for such a thing? Also yes.

Again, they had learned their lesson.

However, being prepared didn’t exactly make the journey itself any easier on them—but still, it wasn’t as if any of them were really complaining. It was hot, yes, but the weather itself was actually decent, and the nights got cool enough where it was easy to sleep, provided they stayed huddled around their campfire to keep from getting too cold. Plus, after talking it over a bit more, they indeed decided to stop in Ryu to rent a camel in order to help carry their supplies, which proved to be a true godsend as they made their way through the sands. Not having to carry all of that equipment in addition to putting up with the unforgiving heat definitely made everything a lot more bearable.

Honestly, he was actually kind of enjoying the trip. Hinoeuma was a rather fascinating region, beautiful in its own way, with the sands glittering like gold under the sun and like silver in the light of the moon. Apart from the heat, he didn’t really mind the terrain at all—but another reason that all of them, not just him, seemed to be in relatively high spirits despite essentially marching to war, was because they would finally be able to see the kingdom of Ku for themselves.

Over the past year, Hikari had told them several stories about his homeland—about the people, the castle town, the food and architecture and culture. It had made them all curious to see it for themselves, and while the reason they were going there was a daunting one, their anticipation could not be quelled. It was obvious that Hikari loved his kingdom despite lamenting so much of its history, believing that it could be better, could become a beacon of safety and harmony for the desert nations. Ku would become the type of kingdom that supported its allies and came to their defense, that offered the hand of friendship to all but wasn’t afraid to stand up and fight against those seeking to take what wasn’t theirs.

So many believed that peace bred complacency, but that wouldn’t be the case for Ku. Hikari would make sure of it.

He was going to be an exceptional king.

That being said... At the moment, anyway, that “future king” was one of three nosy people that Temenos kind of wished would return back to camp and leave him be, but curiosity, as was so often said, was a powerful thing.

Apparently his “training” had sparked a sudden interest in magic. Or just an interest in Heavenly Shine. It was somewhat flattering, but...

“I do not recall saying that I wanted an audience.”

Standing near a collection of rocks, out of his way but still within earshot, were Hikari, Throné, and Crick. Osvald was present as well, but he was supposed to be there, unlike the other three who had simply followed him after dinner.

It was Throné who responded with a witty (and unfortunately accurate), “You also didn’t say that we couldn’t watch.”

He didn’t, that was true, but he honestly hadn’t thought that anyone would want to. They had all seen Heavenly Shine before, so why bother watching? Surely there were better uses for their time, things they would rather be doing. What was the point in coming out here with him?

Was it truly just curiosity, or were they perhaps worried instead? He could understand that kind of motivation when it came to Crick, because the knight was somewhat overprotective, but Hikari and Throné weren’t exactly the types who worried excessively. Even Castti had been alright with letting him go off to practice, merely shoving a plum leaf concoction into his hands before telling him to be careful.

He hoped that their reason wasn’t worry. Curiosity he could tolerate, but worry not so much. He found the notion a bit aggravating, to be honest.

Unfortunately, before he could attempt to interrogate any of them on their reasons, Osvald had apparently decided that he wasn’t in the mood for wasting time.

Understandable, he supposed.

“Well, Temenos?” the scholar began, drawing his attention. “Have you decided what you’d like to work on tonight?”

“I believe so,” he replied, choosing to focus on what he actually came out here for, rather than on his three uninvited spectators. He had given this quite a bit of thought, because unlike before, there had been options this time—several of them, in fact. There was a lot he still wanted to work on, but unfortunately his body could only handle so much. That was one of the reasons they were doing this at night, so that he could simply sleep off any detrimental effects, just in case something were to happen. After all, he certainly didn’t want to end up slowing down his companions, and since the early morning was one of the best times to cover a lot of ground while out in the desert, it had just made sense to move his training sessions to the end of the day instead.

Especially since, from this point forward (or at least for however long they were in the desert), he wanted to work specifically on Heavenly Shine. Honestly, he had kind of been looking forward to this; not even the scorching sun had been able to dampen his mood. Surrounded by nothing but sand, he no longer had to worry about innocent passersby or animals hiding within the foliage. Aside from his friends, there was not a soul in sight, not even any monsters lurking about. It really was the perfect place to practice his rather destructive spell.

And after having taken some time to consider it, he knew what he wanted to try.

“During our trip to Toto’haha,” he began, “you mentioned the possibility of being able to use Heavenly Shine multiple times in a single battle. While I still very much hope that I never end up in a position where something like that would be necessary, I would like to try it. After all, you told me that I was just being dramatic when I said that such a thing would kill me.”

“You were being dramatic,” the scholar replied. “As I said, you cannot die just from draining your spirit, so long as you’re healthy. That being said, however...I would advise limiting the number of times you cast it to only twice. The backlash from draining your spirit, replenishing it, and then immediately draining it again could very well be unpleasant—but I suppose there’s no way to know what you’re capable of handling unless you try.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” This was why Osvald, in addition to being an expert on magic, was his training partner, because he understood the need to find answers, to test boundaries, to see what was possible, what one was able to do. Temenos had never really fancied himself as a scholar before, had never been all that interested in testing his magical limits—but now, after deciding that he would learn Heavenly Shine and master it, he actually found the entire process somewhat...fun.

It was fun to see what he was capable of, even if the aftermath was often far from enjoyable. He didn’t particularly like feeling tired or ending up unconscious. The full-body numbness had by far been the worst though. Hopefully that never happened again. Hopefully it wouldn’t happen now. Castti may have given him that concoction, but she would absolutely lecture him if someone ended up having to carry him back to camp.

That wasn’t enough to deter him though. He was determined to try this, even if it went poorly. At the very least, he would then know whether it was possible or not.

He had best get on with it.

Walking a little further away from his friends, Temenos found a decent spot to position himself and then started gathering his magic. How long had it been since the last time he’d done this, since he had called upon the entirety of his spirit? Not since his battle (if one could truly call it that) against the Scourge of the Sea on their way to Roque Island. A part of him wondered if his body would still be able to handle it like it did back on Toto’haha, but that was what all of his other practicing had been for, aside from his attempts at learning Alephan’s Wisdom.

Almost every day, he had made sure to run through all of the magical exercises that Osvald had given him, the ones for improving his casting time and stamina. He had also practiced with the Advanced Magic enchantment, just to get a better feel for it, so that maybe using Divine Brilliance wouldn’t be so taxing the next time around. It was important to keep up with everything, to not become complacent or lazy. He would never be able to progress otherwise, never be able to reach the pinnacle of what he could truly accomplish with his magic.

Someday, he wanted to be able to use Sacred Effulgence, the highest tier of his extremely powerful spell. That was the name he had come up with after reading through that book of scripture, after practically memorizing the story about Aelfric using Heavenly Shine. They were fitting, the words having stuck out to him, to the point where he had been unable to come up with anything else upon putting them together in his head.

Temenos didn’t really believe in fate, but...sometimes, it did feel like certain things were meant to be.

The inquisitor closed his eyes and concentrated. In truth, this bout of training was meant to serve two purposes. In addition to seeing if he could cast the spell twice in close succession, he wanted to adjust the size of it, to affect a smaller radius. He had been able to increase its size fairly easily, but shrinking and condensing it was another matter entirely. Still, such a thing would certainly be useful. While it would of course mean having to get closer to an enemy, it would also mean that he wouldn’t have to worry as much about the people around him, about his friends possibly getting caught up in the blast.

Osvald had said that he would watch and measure and then mark how far the spell spread, as Temenos wouldn’t be able to tell due to how bright the magic was for him at the center. He trusted the scholar to be accurate, and so with all of the calculations he needed at the forefront of his mind, he cast Heavenly Shine.

“Aelfric, unleash your fury!”

It really was an incredible feeling, that rush of power, of magic flowing through every fiber of his being. He could see the light behind his eyelids, could feel the warmth of it in the quickly cooling desert air, and while it was tempting to just get lost in the feeling, he did his best to focus and control the size of his spell. He was long past the point of being unable to properly shape it, and he prayed that all of his training, all of those formulae that he had memorized would pay off. He wanted this to work.

He wanted all of his experiments to work.

(Not an uncommon desire, he supposed).

When the light began to fade, the magic gradually dissipating, Temenos made sure to stand perfectly still. Despite believing that he was probably in no danger of collapsing, he didn’t want to press his luck, even though he found himself feeling relatively fine. There was just the barest hint of exhaustion, something easily ignored and pushed aside, and upon deciding that he could handle it, that nothing was wrong, he turned to the side and located Osvald.

“Well?” he asked the scholar, watching as the man walked several steps forward before using the toe of his boot to mark a line in the sand.

“This was how far it spread,” he told the cleric, and while Temenos wasn’t exactly the best at measuring distance with just his eyes, he could tell that he had managed to cut the size down by quite a bit from his previous casts.

A decent enough starting point, but he could definitely do better. Osvald seemed to think so as well.

“Take a bit more time to think through the calculations,” he suggested, “and I bet you could cut it down even further.”

“It might help if I had a target to focus on.” He had always found spells easier to cast with a target in mind. “Unfortunately, I don’t believe you will find any scarecrows in the desert.”

Osvald gave him a look at that, an unimpressed one as the inquisitor took a slight jab at him for that time he had stollen a scarecrow in the Crestlands. It had helped him focus while casting his spell, yes, but it had also been kind of amusing.

“...Would this perhaps work, Temenos?”

The cleric turned to find Hikari walking towards him, much to his surprise. The prince looked at the line that Osvald had drawn in the sand and then moved six more steps past it before glancing back at the scholar.

“About here?” he asked.

“Yes, that should do for now.”

With a nod, Hikari drew his sword and pushed it into the sand, making sure it would remain upright before stepping back.

“Your spell doesn’t affect objects, so it should be fine, right?” he asked, drawing a smile from the inquisitor.

“Yes, it will remain undamaged,” Temenos assured him. “Many thanks, Hikari.” And then because he had been given the opportunity to ask, he continued with, “I must admit, I am surprised you decided to come out here. I didn’t think you had much interest in magic.”

“It’s not that I don’t have an interest in it,” the prince corrected. “I have simply never been good at using it. I doubt that will ever change, but...I still find myself curious about the spells you and Osvald wield. You have both found magic that’s effective against the Shadow. It’s impressive, being able to drive the darkness out. If only I were capable of such.”

...Ah. So that’s what this was about.

Truth be told, they never really talked about it, about the “accursed blood of Clan Ku.” Mostly because Hikari didn’t seem all that inclined to bring it up. He had tried to, a couple times, only to let the conversation die before fully going into any details, but they knew that he struggled with it, with a type of darkness that only he could see. There had been a few times where he had fought like a man possessed, the most notable being against Zeto in the arena. For a moment, it had truly looked like Hikari might kill him, the prince’s hands trembling around his blade and then trembling even more as he forced himself to sheath it, the battle ending thankfully without spilling blood.

Hikari’s struggle was a personal one, against something deep within himself, something that existed because of his bloodline. And yet despite that struggle, he had never once endangered any of them. For the most part, he seemed to have it under control. That was why they never bothered to say anything, to ask. At the end of the day, Hikari was Hikari. He was a kind and thoughtful young man who wanted a future without bloodshed. Whatever that darkness was, it wasn’t him.

That being said, it only made sense that he would want to drive it out.

“It isn’t so much the magic itself that is effective,” Temenos said. “But rather it is the source of those spells that makes them capable of combatting the Shadow.”

Hikari’s brow furrowed as he mulled the words over before asking, “What do you mean?”

“Well, if my theory is correct and the scripture is to be believed, the Shadow is Vide, and the source of the dark god’s power is all of the negative traits found in human nature, our ‘worst instincts,’ so to speak. The Sacred Flame is said to drive those shadows out, and it is the source of most light magic. The source of the One True Magic is a bit more abstract, but it also exists in absence of the Shadow, and so naturally it would be effective against it. Those two sources, however, can exist in anyone. They are not limited to only those who are good at magic.”

“I thought light magic was rooted in faith?”

“It is, to an extent. But faith comes in many forms. There is faith in the gods, faith in the Flame, faith in oneself...” He gave the prince a knowing grin as he added, “Faith in your friends. You do not have to be devout to have faith, and that faith is more than capable of keeping the darkness at bay. Light magic is simply a physical manifestation of it, that’s all. Fear not, Hikari. For you are more than capable of driving the darkness out.”

...It was getting easier, saying the things he didn’t often allow himself to say, putting it all into words and being a proper shepherd to his flock. It was different, certainly, but in a good way—in a way that actually made him want to help. There were several times throughout his life where he had offered advice indifferently, had spoken about the Flame halfheartedly, but after everything he had experienced, he was starting to rethink his stance on certain things and had been trying to look back on some of the teachings he had originally written off. What kind of inquisitor would he be, after all, if he didn’t properly pursue the truth?

And right now, what he knew to be true was that Hikari did not need magic to destroy the darkness inside him. He needed nothing more than what he already had. One day, he would surely be rid of it. He would find a way.

Looking much more at ease, the prince gave him a smile and said, “Thank you, Temenos. You have given me much to consider.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

“I’ll let you get back to your training.”

Hikari returned to where Throné and Crick were standing, and Temenos, taking a look at where the sword was placed, decided that he had best get on with things and pulled the concoction from his pocket, downing it in a single go. He immediately felt his spirit being restored, the entirety of it because Castti was very good at what she did, and once it was fully replenished, he prepared to cast his spell yet again.

He needed to make the dome smaller without sacrificing potency or speed. He was certain he could manage it with practice, even if he was limited to just two attempts per night. He had always been a fairly quick study (his struggles with Alephan’s Wisdom notwithstanding).

Doing his best to gauge the distance by sight, he took a deep breath, spoke the incantation, and released his magic.

The spell formed quickly, the light just as bright as before, but he made sure to focus, to try and limit its spread, despite the fact that he couldn’t see what was going on around him. Even if it did end up going past Hikari’s blade, he hoped that it would at least be less than that line in the sand. Some progress was always better than no progress, after all.

When the light eventually faded, he slowly opened his eyes. He also made certain not to move again. He had definitely learned his lesson the last several times, especially from his battle with Kaldena, and while he had been perfectly fine after his last cast, he knew not to push his luck with this one. He needed to give his body a moment to settle, and so he took a deep breath and tried to evaluate his condition, to check if anything felt particularly off. There was exhaustion, hiding just beneath the surface, but for the most part, he...

He felt fine.

Perhaps he really was getting more accustomed to this.

Feeling rather confident, he relaxed his body, released a sigh, and then turned towards Osvald to ask how he’d done.

The world went black a second later.

...When Temenos eventually came to, he found himself leaning back against a rock formation. There were also four rather blurry faces looking at him. One of them seemed to be saying something, but there was a slight ringing in his ears that made it difficult to make out the words, not helped in the least by the throbbing that he could feel throughout his head. He tried to focus, to pay attention, and little by little everything began to clear.

The person directly in front of him, the one who was talking and lightly tapping his face, was Throné.

“Temenos?” she asked, not sounding too concerned all things considered (she was probably getting used to this, much to his chagrin). “You back with us now, Detective?”

“I...” He swallowed a bit thickly, his tongue feeling heavy. Everything felt kind of heavy actually, but at least his headache was starting to abate. “Probably.”

“That’s not very reassuring.”

“You will...have to forgive me for that, I’m afraid.” Well, at least he didn’t seem to be having any problems with talking, despite the way he felt. “What happened, exactly?”

“You passed out.”

Great. Not that he hadn’t already suspected that to be the case, seeing as how the last thing he remembered was standing in the sand as he turned towards Osvald, but being told so bluntly made the reality of it sting all the more.

Clearly he still had a long way to go yet. Or maybe using such a powerful spell twice was simply beyond his abilities after all. However, he didn’t feel anywhere near as terrible as that first time he had cast it. Surely that had to count for something.

“How long was I unconscious?”

“Only a few minutes.”

That probably counted for something too. In fact, that was significantly better than he’d expected. A few minutes compared to a few hours? He’d take it. He was also quick to notice that there was no numbness either. He felt tired and heavy, yes, but when he reached up to rub at his left eye, attempting to clear a bit more of the blurriness from it, he found that the limb moved easily, that he wasn’t completely devoid of strength.

A rather encouraging outcome.

He took a deep breath and looked up at Osvald.

“Well?” he asked the scholar. “Did I succeed in making the dome smaller?”

He was met with a deep, exasperated sigh—not from Osvald but from Throné.

“Seriously, Temenos?” his dear assistant asked. “That’s what you’re concerned about right now?”

“Well, it was the purpose of my training tonight, in addition to seeing if I could use the spell twice, of course. Clearly I’m not quite up to the latter yet, but the first part should have been perfectly doable.”

Another sigh, but she thankfully didn’t comment further on his priorities, even though she did shake her head at him a bit. Apparently he must have worried her a fair amount for the thief to be reacting in such a way to his nonchalance. Perhaps he would take a moment to apologize to her later.

For now, he gave his attention to Osvald.

“It was a good attempt,” the scholar told him. “While you did miss the target distance, you were close. We’ll have to try again tomorrow, though I would forgo casting the spell twice two days in a row. You clearly need to work more on your stamina.”

This time it was Temenos’s turn to sigh. Honestly, he should have been expecting that remark. How many times now had Osvald told him that? Quite frankly, he was starting to lose count.

“That being said,” the man continued, “you’ve definitely improved. I was half expecting we’d have to carry you back to camp unconscious. Eventually, I think your body will acclimate to this as well.”

He couldn’t help but smile at that as a slight feeling of what could only be described as satisfaction or pride began to swell in his chest. It was always a nice thing to hear, the fact that he was indeed becoming stronger, that what had started out as a mere attempt to see if using Heavenly Shine was even possible had become something like this instead: a spell that he was gradually making his own.

Someday, he would master it entirely. He was the Flamebringer’s chosen, after all.

With his headache now mostly gone, Temenos figured that it would be in all of their best interests to return to camp. The night air was growing colder. Soon enough, they would definitely be in need of a campfire. It also wouldn’t do to end up worrying the rest of their friends by staying gone for too long.

Unfortunately, when he tried to shift himself into a position that would allow him to stand, his body refused to cooperate.

“Do you require a hand, Temenos?” asked Hikari, his brow furrowing in concern, but the cleric was quick to wave him off.

“No, no, I simply need a moment to... I am certain I can manage it.”

...As it turned out, he could not manage it. Try as he might, his legs refused to support him. It actually wasn’t all that different to when he had used Divine Brilliance, though thankfully he didn’t feel dizzy this time. Just tired and heavy as his body refused to cooperate.

Someone...might have to help him walk back to camp. That was not the conclusion he had wanted to come to, but there was nothing else for it. And it seemed that Throné had come to that conclusion as well.

“It seems that you do require a hand,” she told him, a smile pulling at her lips that was just a touch amused, a touch mischievous. She then stood up and turned to Crick, who had yet to say a single word—who had simply been watching this whole time with a rather hard to decipher look on his face—and said to the knight, “I trust you can take care of this.”

The man startled, looking down at her with wide eyes and a confused, “What?”

Rather than elaborate, however, she simply began walking off, motioning for Hikari and Osvald to follow her, and without another word, the three of them began making their way back towards camp.

Leaving him alone with Crick.

His Godsbalde hesitated for a moment, shifting his weight uncertainly before asking, “Do you need me to—”

“No,” Temenos replied, cutting him off. He knew how that sentence was going to end. He did not need to be carried. “I am certain I can...”

If he could at least get to his feet, then he could simply lean against the knight or borrow his arm to steady himself as he walked. While it wouldn’t be ideal to return to camp like that, it was definitely preferable to being carried again.

He actually managed to make it fully to his feet before his knees buckled.

An arm caught him by the waist, followed by an admonishment of, “Stop being so stubborn,” because it was pretty obvious that his legs weren’t going to allow him to walk back to camp.

There was nothing else for it then.

“Oh, very well.”

Which was how he found himself once again being carried on his little lamb’s back like a child. It was still just as embarrassing as before. Not that he would ever admit as much. Besides, he quickly found himself preoccupied by something else.

That expression that Crick had been wearing earlier... Looking back on it, in addition to the fact that he hadn’t said anything when Temenos had woken up (normally he would’ve asked if he was alright, would have fretted), the inquisitor was pretty sure he knew what it was.

“Are you upset with me?” he asked, curious. He likely wouldn’t apologize for it, because he wasn’t sorry for testing his limits, but he did want to know if the knight was indeed upset.

Crick hesitated before saying rather unconvincingly, “I’m not upset.”

“There is little point in trying to lie to me, Crick, seeing as how you aren’t very good at it.”

That earned him a sigh, followed by, “I’m not lying. At least not entirely, anyway.”

“Then you are upset.”

Another sigh, and then silence. Crick simply trudged through the sand, heading for their camp in the distance, but just as Temenos was debating on whether to try again or drop it entirely (which definitely wouldn’t be his first choice, but he was getting kind of tired), his dear Godsblade decided to explain.

“I just...wish that you would stop pushing yourself, that’s all,” he said. “I know you aren’t going to though, and I told myself that I needed to get used to it, but...”

The arms supporting him tightened as Crick ducked his head.

“Please don’t misunderstand,” he continued. “It’s not as if I don’t believe you’re capable—I do trust in your abilities, it’s just... I worry sometimes, that one day you’ll end up getting hurt because of it. That I won’t be able to protect you from it. I only want you to be safe, Temenos. That’s all.”

...Oh, honestly.

Gods, just how many times was this man going to catch him off guard with his sincerity? Temenos, despite himself, had no idea what to say. Simply put, he had not been expecting that much honesty, even though he probably should have been considering some of the other things that Crick had said to him, given the very nature of who and what his little lamb was. Such an earnest, genuine young man, even if he so often ended up flustering himself because of it. This time, however, there was no embarrassment. Clearly he had meant to say every word.

Seriously, what was Temenos supposed to do with that?

“...I have told you before that I do not require protection.”

“I know.”

“And yet still you continue to insist.”

“I swore an oath. I have no intention of going back on my word.”

The inquisitor breathed a sigh—half put upon, half fond—and dropped his head onto Crick’s shoulder.

“Ever the dutiful knight...” He really was a shining example of what a Sanctum Knight was meant to be, even if he was rather overprotective.

This was not a battle that Temenos was going to win. Probably not ever.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to relent.

Allowing more of his weight to settle against his knight’s back, he said, “I suppose I could try to be a bit more careful with my experimenting, if it would put your mind at ease. And you are always welcome to watch if such a thing would help to appease your concern.”

“...It might.”

“Good. That settles it then.” Even though it didn’t really settle it at all. He might have chosen to give in a little, to take better care of himself while he practiced, but at the end of the day, it wasn’t a promise, and it certainly wasn’t the promise that Crick had probably wanted from him either. Because he couldn’t possibly make a promise like that. He would try not to push himself so hard, would try to be more careful, but if a situation demanded it of him, he would throw all of that aside. He would risk his life if he had to, as many times as it took to keep his friends safe. He was not about to let anyone fall, no matter the cost.

And he was pretty sure that Crick knew that.

He couldn’t promise to keep himself safe.

But at the very least, he could promise to try.

Chapter Text

By the time they reached the kingdom of Ku (or the part of the desert just outside of Ku), Temenos had, after a good deal of practicing, as in going out every night for the last five days, managed to accomplish a grand total of two things.

Just two.

The first was that he had gained significantly better control when it came to adjusting the size and scale of Heavenly Shine. He could expand or condense it at will now, so long as he didn’t mess up the calculations. Thankfully he had a rather excellent memory when it came to the things he deemed important, which meant there was very little chance of that happening. He would always make sure to get it right so as not to endanger those around him. That was the whole reason he had wanted to improve, after all.

And the second thing he had accomplished, after casting it two more times during their trip, was that he could now use Divine Brilliance without rendering himself completely useless afterward (or mostly useless, seeing as how he had still been conscious after his first attempt, unlike with Heavenly Shine). It still made him rather exhausted though, but that was nothing that a tincture of plum leaf and skybalm couldn’t fix, even though Castti was starting to hesitate when it came to giving him the latter, once again claiming that herbs were not an adequate substitute for rest. One day he would surely be able to cast it without the exhaustion, just like with Heavenly Shine, even if that day was probably still a little ways off yet.

Regardless, he had definitely improved. Now, would those improvements help him during the next battle? Absolutely not. But did he still feel accomplished after achieving them? Most definitely.

Still no success with Alephan’s Wisdom though, unfortunately, despite trying a few more times throughout their trek. He was doing his best not to let that bother him, but his lack of progress was somewhat frustrating. For the life of him, he just didn’t understand what he was doing wrong, what he could possibly be missing, and because Osvald had been able to learn it rather easily all things considered, the scholar couldn’t exactly offer him much advice on what he needed to do differently or what he should be trying instead. Temenos had really been hoping to have it learned before they arrived in Ku, but alas. He would simply have to make do with Advanced Magic instead.

Hopefully it would be enough. Hopefully he could keep everyone healed. He very much doubted that their army would have another cleric in its ranks since members of the clergy weren’t exactly common in Hinoeuma, and while apothecaries were good at healing too, their spells couldn’t reach multiple people at once. Such a thing was going to be necessary to ensure that all of the fighters on their side survived this. An unrealistic goal, probably, but one he planned to aim for all the same. Best to aim high than settle low, after all.

(Gods, he really was becoming more optimistic).

Above Ku’s desert, the sun was just starting to cut a path across the sky, marking the time as still early morning. They had departed before dawn upon realizing just how close they were to their destination, and so not wanting to waste any more time, they had all agreed the previous night to break camp early. That decision had served them well, and now here they were, finally approaching the southernmost city on the western continent, surrounding by scorching heat, rocks, and sand.

Eventually, after walking just a little farther, Hikari came to a stop, forcing the rest of them to stop as well since he had been leading the way, and then turned around to face them.

“Before we meet with Kazan,” he began, “there is a place I’d like to visit, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Of course we don’t mind,” said Castti in that considerate, understanding way of hers. “What sort of place is it?”

“We call it the Crest of Heroes. It’s a memorial of sorts, for the allies and friends we lost. I would always visit it before and after our battles.”

He pointed towards a small peak not too far from them, a rock formation with a path clearly winding up.

“It’s just over there,” he continued. “We chose that spot because it overlooks the city, a reminder of what all of them fought and died for.”

A rather touching sentiment for a kingdom that historically had cared very little about its people. Temenos wondered who first came up with the idea, if there had been others who were just as kind as Hikari throughout Ku’s blood-soaked history, ones who had believed in preserving the memory of those who had been lost. It made him want to see the memorial for himself, and apparently he wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

“Would it be alright to come with you?” asked Agnea, earning her a small, appreciative smile from the prince.

“Of course,” he replied. “All of you are more than welcome.”

And so the nine of them took a brief detour from their original destination and instead made their way up to the Crest of Heroes, which thankfully wasn’t as steep of a walk as it had originally looked. Once they got to the top, they found a collection of spears and swords that had been shoved into the ground, almost like a burial of some sort, even though there were probably no bodies buried beneath the sand. The “graves” were much too shallow for that.

Back during the earlier days of their journey, they had met a traveler in Canalbrine whose friend had passed away and was cremated. He had been on a journey to return his ashes to Hinoeuma, to scatter them amongst the sands of his home. Perhaps that was a common practice amongst the desert people, and so maybe that was what had happened to all those who were memorialized here. Ashes mixed with the sand, marked by the weapons they had once wielded. A way to honor those fallen warriors who had lived and died for their kingdom’s goals.

It was a rather...somber sight, truth be told, the symbol of lives that had been cut short, taken by a war that had ultimately been meaningless. Hikari had told them all about his father, about what he had said the day he was killed, why he had chosen his second son to take the throne. In the end, King Jigo had regretted his endless ambition which had stained the sands of their kingdom crimson, but in Hikari—in his son’s dedication and compassion, untainted by their clan’s violence—he had seen the potential for a brighter future.

Hope, in the midst of so much tragedy. That was what Hikari was for his people, for his kingdom. Perhaps even for all of Hinoeuma.

A bright light in their war-torn world.

Taking a deep breath, the prince walked forward towards the graves, bowed his head and said, quite simply, “I’m home.”

He then turned his gaze to the city below them—and what a grand, incredible sight it was.

The kingdom of Ku was every bit as massive as Temenos had expected it to be, spanning a great distance and surrounded by a protective wall that was meant to keep out intruders. There were several tall buildings, tall enough to put even New Delsta’s architecture to shame, and the design of them was completely unique to Hinoeuma, a part of their culture, something that he had always found quite striking about the desert nation. It made for a rather stunning sight, the sun bouncing off the red and blue roofs, making the whole city shine—and, if one could just ignore the debris and rubble lying about, the charred stone and scorched wood, he might even be willing to call it beautiful.

One day it would be, surely. At the moment, however, it was rather difficult to look beyond Mugen’s cruelty.

“They didn’t repair most of the buildings,” Hikari noted, a pang of sadness in his voice. “I suppose that’s to be expected. Mugen thought nothing of setting our home alight. Of course he wouldn’t spare the time to have his men restore the city.”

“Then we’ll just have to fix it up ourselves once we take it back,” said Agnea, looking quite determined. “I’m sure there will be all sorts of people willing to pitch in.”

“Agnea’s right,” Partitio agreed, grinning brightly. “You’ve got a whole bunch o’ people supportin’ ya. And I’ll help make sure you get all the materials you’ll need to get this place back up ‘n’ runnin’. It’ll be a big project, that’s for sure, but it definitely ain’t one you’ve gotta handle on your own.”

Something eased in the prince’s expression as he said, “Thank you, my friends. I promise that we will win the day and see Mugen dethroned, and then I can introduce you to my home properly. Now, I think it would be best if we find Kazan. I’m sure he’s probably waiting for us just outside the city.”

Sure enough, Hikari’s words proved to be true. Kazan was indeed waiting for them, just a short distance away from the Crest of Heroes. He was alone, standing there as if he had known they would be coming, which probably meant that he had spotted them as they scaled the peak. An observant man was the Eagle of Ku. He likely had scouts throughout the area as well, keeping an eye on things, who had probably been told to alert him immediately once the prince arrived.

The grin he wore as he stood there wasn’t quite smug, but it was definitely knowing, and there was also something rather pleased about it as his eyes fell on Hikari. The man was a bit of an enigma, someone who played by his own rules backed by a whole mess of tangled motivations, but despite the somewhat flippant attitude he had displayed both in Montwise and Ryu, he was obviously quite fond of Ku’s second prince.

Supposedly, he was yet another who wanted a world free of bloodshed, who had always tried his best to minimize casualties through the clever use of strategy. Hopefully that would be the case this time too.

“Kazan,” Hikari greeted. “It has been some time.”

“That it has,” the Eagle of Ku agreed. “The moment is at hand, my friend. I trust you are ready?”

“I am.”

“Good. Then please, come this way, and allow me to show you the allies I’ve brought.”

They followed Kazan across the small expanse of desert, and soon they could make out several tents amongst the sands, along with a very large gathering of people. Hikari’s strategist certainly had not been idle in the months following their last meeting.

“Behold the heroes of Ku!” the man said, gesturing to their forces with a wide sweep of his arm, and upon hearing his voice, all of them stopped what they had been doing and turned to greet their prince.

The looks upon their faces, upon catching sight of Hikari—Ku’s future king—could not be understated. Those expressions spoke volumes that words themselves never could. Relief, trust, belief, joy—such emotions barely even scratched the surface. Their faith was almost palpable, painted so clearly across their faces. This was what kindness, humility, and dedication could accomplish, could bring about, because loyalty—true loyalty—was something that could only be earned by dint of character, by proving that one was as good as their word.

And in that regard, there was no one more deserving of that loyalty than Hikari. These people, no matter what sort of opposition they faced, would not waver. Faith in Hikari’s vision for Ku, for the future, would see them through. He was certain of it.

(Again, optimism).

Upon seeing so many people at the encampment, their dear prince, always the picture of modesty, looked at them all with wide eyes as he asked Kazan, “Where did...?”

“They’ve all gathered under your banner, my prince,” the man replied. “Secretly, of course.”

Getting over his awe, Hikari walked forward and bowed his head towards the many men and women before him.

“Your bravery is much appreciated,” he told them respectfully, genuinely, because he understood better than most the sheer gravity of what would be required, the fact that they would all be risking their lives today. Such a sacrifice could not go unacknowledged.

The one who approached from the massive crowd was a familiar face, and despite not hailing from Hinoeuma, he looked right at home amongst both the warriors and non-warriors alike.

Zeto the Butcher. A life that Hikari had saved, who had been freed by him and Kazan. Who was now fighting because he chose to.

“We said our lives were yours, Brother,” he said. “And we’re as good as our word. If you’ll have us, that is.”

“Gladly, Zeto,” Hikari told him. “It shall be an honor to fight by your side.”

He really was such a sincere young man. It was no wonder that his people loved him so, that they were willing to fight for him, fight with him, even those who held no allegiance to Ku. Hikari himself was motivation enough, along with his desire for peace.

Temenos would be lying if he said that he didn’t feel similarly. That innocent, straightforward determination that had been shaped by a cruel reality, by seeing the worst of people yet still believing one could change things and make it better, was an endearing mindset. While he was too cynical for such a thing himself, that didn’t mean he couldn’t admire it in others. He very much wanted all of the bright lights around him to remain that way, to keep their radiance. That wasn’t too much to ask for, was it?

(And even if it was, he didn’t particularly care).

Hikari was just about to say something, either to Zeto or to the crowd at large, but he was quite suddenly cut off by a rather loud shout of, “My prince!” from somewhere just behind him.

They all turned—a voice that loud practically demanded it—and watched as a man came charging across the sands, a large spear in hand, and because of all the stories that Hikari had told them about his friends in Ku, the inquisitor was pretty sure that he and everyone else already knew who this man was.

Tall, powerful, fierce, yet not without a pleased grin on his face as he stopped in front of his lord and said, “It appears time has treated you well!”

“Benkei!” Hikari greeted, looking just as pleased. “You’re alive!”

Yes, this was indeed the man they had heard of, who Hikari had always spoken so fondly of. Benkei had been one of his father’s retainers, a man often considered to be the strongest warrior in all of Ku. He had been there on the night King Jigo was killed, had sworn his allegiance to Hikari in that moment, and had bought enough time for his prince to escape. An extremely capable warrior who shared Hikari’s vision for a peaceful kingdom... It would be good to have him on their side during the battle.

The look on his face was confident without being arrogant.

“I told you Mugen’s rabble would not beat me,” he said, earning a relieved and proud smile from his prince.

Kazan stepped forward and explained, “Thanks to the kind souls from our neighbor, Benkei was able to flee the battle and nurse his wounds. Just like many who survived that day in Ku, he has been waiting for this moment to arrive.”

The man nodded in agreement, and Temenos found himself thinking once again just how incredible it was that a single person—a young man of only twenty-one years—could inspire such unfailing loyalty in those around him, by simply being nothing more or less than exactly what he was. A rather humbling sight.

“I never thought we’d fight together again,” said Hikari, who had been fairly convinced that his friend had died for his sake. Thank goodness that hadn’t been the case.

“Nor I, my prince. Lord Jigo would surely smile at our reunion.”

“Our numbers grow,” noted Kazan. “However...there is one who speaks volumes by her absence.”

Oh?

Was there still someone they were... Ah, right. They were missing someone, weren’t they? Upon taking a second glance at their forces, that did indeed seem to be the case. While Temenos had not been present for Hikari’s reunion with Rai Mei, he had been told a great deal about it. He had also seen several Clan Mei soldiers walking around Stormhail and couldn’t help but notice that no one amongst their current company bore the traditional blue garments that had probably made them stand out quite a bit in the desert.

It had been almost two months now since Stormhail. Surely that would have given them enough time to arrive if they planned on helping. While mobilizing an army was no easy feat, and the Frostlands and Hinoeuma were on opposite sides of Solistia, there was no reason for it to have taken that long. It was probably safe to assume that Clan Mei wouldn’t be coming.

And yet Hikari, true to form, turned to Kazan and stated, “Rai Mei will come. Have faith, Kazan.”

“As you say, my prince,” the man replied, seeming rather amused by his liege’s blind faith in others.

Their strategist looked across the encampment, at all the ready, eager faces (no hesitation present in any of them) and said, “Then we are ready at last. Every piece carefully in its place. We march for Castle Ku, a fortress that has stood impregnable for centuries. Countless legions have thrown their bodies against its walls, only to be buried underneath them. A formidable foe indeed.”

“So then how would the eagle find purchase?” asked Hikari.

There was definitely a touch of amusement there (he could recognize that particular trait quite well) as the man crossed his arms over his chest and told him, “Nothing elegant. We storm the front gates.”

...Well. That was certainly a very...direct approach. And probably not at all what anyone had been expecting, including Hikari.

“The front gates?” he asked, sounding a touch skeptical. “I hope you’ve thought this through.”

“I have. The front gates are Castle Ku’s weakest point.”

“What?” Definitely more than just a touch skeptical this time. “They’ve not been breached once in all of our history.”

“And that pride,” Kazan stated, both patient and sure, “is precisely why they’re weak. The fewest number of guards will be stationed there. The vast majority of soldiers are stationed at the obvious flaws. They’re bait.”

“Bait?”

“Indeed. A less thorough strategist would attack these blatant weak spots, not knowing that by doing so they’ve already lost. Once their forces are drawn into the trap, they’re met with blade and arrow. Castle Ku entices enemies with its western gate, opposite the main gate. They won’t expect us to attack from the front.”

“Interesting... How do you plan on forcing the gate open then?”

“Follow me, my lord, and I will give you all the details of our plan.”

“Very well.”

Hikari turned to the eight of them as Kazan began to walk off towards the rockface that their encampment was nestled by.

“Please take this time to rest and prepare,” he said. “Soon, the battle will begin. I want to ensure that everyone is ready, and if you would rather not take part in the fighting directly, you need only say so.”

As if any of them would ever stay behind.

“I’ve never turned my back on a brawl, partner,” stated Partitio. “And I ain’t about to start now.”

“You said it, Parti! We’ll definitely get your home back, Hikarin, you can count on it!”

A sentiment shared by all. While the battle would indeed be dangerous, they were ready for it. All of the fights they had been in, be it against monsters, people, or abominations, had trained them well for this moment. They knew their roles, knew how to fight well with others and adapt to changes in a battle’s flow. And besides, staying behind would mean spending all of their time worrying, and no one wanted that. Better to do what they could to make a difference and keep each other safe. That was why they were traveling together, after all.

The prince smiled gratefully and said, “Thank you, my friends. I shall return shortly.”

And with that, he followed after Kazan, leaving the rest of them to mingle and prepare. Castti immediately went to where several other apothecaries had stationed themselves, clearly intending to discuss medicine and how best to administer aid during what would essentially be a small-scale war, while Throné, Ochette, and Osvald went over to the supply tent to take a look at their equipment.

Partitio and Agnea, the two most sociable of their group, quickly struck up conversations with the soldiers, including Benkei who they both seemed pretty excited to finally meet (not surprising, given the stories they’d heard).

“So you’re Benkei,” the merchant said cheerfully. “Hikari’s told us tons ‘bout you. Said you’re the strongest man in the whole kingdom!”

“That is high praise from his highness indeed. I’m honored.”

Temenos smiled to himself as he looked out across the desert, at the kingdom of Ku standing proud in the distance. Soon, they would be storming its front gates, clashing with Mugen’s forces in the streets. With any luck, several of his men would choose not to fight, would surrender themselves or perhaps even change sides. Surely not all of them agreed with their current king and his desire to see the world bow before him, willing to trample every nation beneath his feet. Surely some of them wanted nothing more than to live with their families in peace, never having to fear for their lives again. Hikari would bring about that kind of kingdom.

And they would all help him to achieve it.

“...Temenos.”

The cleric turned and found Crick approaching him with a rather serious, determined look on his face. Not surprising, really—not anymore, at least. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time his Godsblade had approached him like this. Truth be told, he was starting to become well acquainted with that look.

“Yes, little lamb? What is it?”

With a hand placed very meaningfully on the hilt of his sword, he said, “I would ask that you please remain close by during the battle, so that I can protect you.”

In hindsight, he should’ve been expecting that. It was a request, however, not a demand, because after spending so much time together, Crick had come to know him quite well. A demand he would probably poke at and be difficult about, but a request...

“Fear not,” he told the knight with a smile. “As I have stated before, my primary role in this battle will be to heal—I am well aware of that fact. That being said, however, as a healer, I am required to go where I am needed. If you intend to remain by my side as I do, then I expect you to keep up, understand?”

The knight looked surprised for a moment as he asked, “You aren’t going to object?”

“I doubt it would do me any good if I did. And besides, I may very well need someone to watch my back in a battle such as this. Those of us who rely on magic are always at our most vulnerable when casting spells.” That was the simple truth of it. While he liked to claim that he didn’t require protection, there were definitely cases where he did. This battle was likely to be one of them.

The inquisitor breathed a sigh and looked at their encampment, at the army of goodhearted people who believed in their prince, who were willing to fight for their home, for each other, and for that bright future off in the distance. So many lives to keep safe... Once again he found himself wishing that he were better prepared for what was to come.

“If only I had been able to learn Alephan’s Wisdom... I could heal so many more people with a third-tier spell.”

A few months ago, he wouldn’t have been willing to admit as much. Uncertainty, a sense of failure, those were things to be locked away, to never let slip past his lips. They were a weakness, wholly unbefitting of an inquisitor, but at the same time...

At the same time, it wasn’t such a bad thing at all, really, talking through a problem with someone, sharing troubles. He was starting to get used to the idea. And Crick had always been an easy person to talk to. There was nothing wrong with letting him see more of the truth. He already knew that Temenos wasn’t unflappable anyway.

The knight looked thoughtful for a moment before asking, “What about the divine blessing of the Flamebringer?”

The cleric looked up at him, equal parts curious and confused.

“Divine blessing? You mean Aelfric’s Blessing? It does not work the same way as Alephan’s Wisdom.”

“I know, I just...” Crick reached up and rubbed at the back of his head, clearly feeling self-conscious. By his own admission, he was rather hopeless with magic. “I thought that maybe the way you would need to learn it might be similar? When did you first learn how to use Aelfric’s divine skill?”

“It was...” He could admit to it, he told himself. There was nothing wrong with being forthcoming in this regard. Crick was trying to help him, after all. “...During a moment of desperation. That is true for many of us.”

Not for Osvald, however. Or Partitio (that story was actually quite funny). But for most of them. Unlocking a great power when it was needed, like the heroes in some sort of fairy tale.

A part of him kind of hated the notion.

“Well...” Crick began, his words careful, which was understandable given what he ultimately decided to say. “Perhaps learning Alephan’s Wisdom would need something similar?”

Temenos scoffed at the idea, despite the fact that there could actually be some truth to it, because...

“If being forced into a life-or-death situation is required, then I would just as soon give up on learning it.” He would stick to Advanced Magic if that were the case. Osvald could just cast Alephan’s Wisdom on him instead. There was no requirement that said he had to be the one to do it in order to use Sacred Effulgence, and so there wasn’t necessarily a reason for him to learn the divine skill of the Scholarking aside from making his life a little bit easier and simply proving that he could. Surely he would be able to manage without it.

Even though he didn’t want to give up. The part of him that enjoyed studying magic, that could see the appeal in becoming a scholar and pursuing knowledge, balked at the very idea, at allowing such a hurdle to stand in his way. He didn’t want to admit defeat.

But he also didn’t want to end up in a dangerous situation that required him to use it. Stress was certainly an excellent motivator, but it also wasn’t worth the anxiety, the fear, the possibility of things going wrong. Most of the time they were lucky, but someday that luck was going to run out, and when it did, well...

Needless to say, he would rather not think about it.

“That doesn’t really seem like a solution,” Crick told him, even though he also looked a bit guilty over the turn their conversation had taken. “My apologies though. It wasn’t my intention to bring up something that would discourage you.”

“There is no need to apologize, my dear. You were only attempting to help. And for that, I thank you.”

It was something to consider at the very least, no matter how much he might dislike the method. He certainly wouldn’t be going out of his way to test it though, that was for sure. With any luck, Hikari would be able to take down Mugen quickly, and the battle would end with a full surrender from the enemy soldiers and no lives lost.

That was the goal, anyway.

“Come, we should join the others,” he suggested, taking note of where all of them had gone. He very much wanted to speak to Castti and the other healers before the battle, and it might not be a bad idea to survey some of the supplies as well. “Once Hikari returns, the battle will begin, and so we had best make ready.”

Crick nodded in agreement and followed him into the crowd. Soon, he would be following him across a battlefield as well. By choice.

What had he ever done to deserve that?

Perhaps someday, he would find it in himself to ask. Right now, however, they had a war to win.

Crick, despite being a knight, had only ever been in a handful of large-scale battles before. Most of them had taken place during his training, where groups of aspiring hopefuls were sent out on missions together in order to foster cooperation and an ability to work closely with others during a fight. In that time, he had learned a bit about strategic positioning, about finding openings while not getting in another’s way, about keeping an eye on his surroundings and forcing himself to adapt to any changes in the battle. Not that he had been particularly good at a lot of it back then, mind you, but he wanted to believe that he had improved considerably since his anointment and especially within the past few months. All of those sparring sessions with Hikari had made him faster, stronger, and hopefully more observant (though he definitely had Temenos to thank for that last one as well).

Yes, he wanted to believe that he was ready for another big battle, where he would be fighting together with several allies against a much larger force. Even though he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this battle in particular would put all of the others he had fought in to shame.

The first reason for that was their strategy. Rather than being subtle, they were taking a direct approach and storming the front gates.

Literally.

By way of a massive sandstorm.

Kazan might be just a little bit crazy...

Crick kind of felt sorry for the poor soldiers who had been caught in the twister’s path as their tents and palisades were pulled apart and scattered across the sands. There simply was no fighting against mother nature. To use the winds in such a way... Ku’s renowned strategist had certainly earned his reputation.

Just as he had said they would, the gates splintered and cracked under the full force of the gale. Thank the gods they had all found shelter behind some very sturdy rock formations, otherwise their army might not have faired any better than those gates.

Eventually, the winds subsided, allowing them to once again see clearly the path ahead, and as they all prepared themselves for the charge, Hikari took his place at the front.

“The storm has opened the way!” he declared, loud enough for all of them to hear. “Remember, fight only those who draw their swords! We’re here for Mugen!”

No senseless bloodshed. A rule they would all be sure to abide by. They were to set an example for the kingdom’s future, to show the world what those who fought beside Hikari stood for. There was strength in mercy, in protecting others, the type of strength that someone like Mugen would never understand. A real leader, one who fostered genuine loyalty, could not rule with an iron fist, without compassion. King Jigo had eventually come to understand that. Which was why he had wanted to pass his crown to Hikari.

Crick was not a soldier of Ku, but in that moment he felt like one. He was pretty sure they all did.

And together, they would see the will of Ku’s future king done.

Hikari drew his blade and motioned towards the destroyed gates.

“Now go forward, pride of the sands!”

With a resounding cry, their army charged.

They were met with opposition the moment they passed through the gate, and soon enough there were blades and spears clashing everywhere along the streets. The travelers, for the most part, remained together—close to Hikari’s back and close to each other. After fighting together for so long, they clearly knew what they were doing, knew what their roles were as Ochette and Mahina focused on disrupting enemy movements rather than making direct strikes, as Osvald controlled the field with his magic, Agnea focused on support and enchantments from the middle, and Hikari, Throné, and Partitio disarmed and knocked out every opponent they came across.

It was impressive to say the least, and it made him fight that much harder as he helped cut a path for the healers, determined to do the job he had assigned himself so that Temenos, Castti, and the other apothecaries could heal whatever wounds were sustained, so that their side would be able to outlast the other if the battle started to go on for too long. Crick knew the importance of safeguarding a group’s healers; that was one of the basics of group combat that had been drilled into his head. In a drawn-out fight, the group with the most competent healer would usually win, even if they were at a disadvantage when it came to martial prowess.

Given his focus on strength above all else, it was unlikely that Mugen had any healers in his ranks aside from maybe a couple apothecaries. His soldiers would soon come to learn just how much of an oversight that was.

Unfortunately, that also meant that their own healers would likely become targets. Hence the reason why he had been ready to insist that Temenos allow him to remain close by. He had even been prepared to argue his point with an entire barrage of examples, but much to his surprise, the inquisitor hadn’t put up a fight, and he could only hope that meant that his charge wouldn’t do anything reckless, that this time there would be no rushing out into the fray. He could heal from a distance, not needing to be close by for most wounds, and so there was no reason for Temenos to put himself in harm’s way.

He would, however, if he felt it was necessary. That was something Crick knew to be true. While he wasn’t as altruistic as Castti when it came to healing others, he wasn’t the type to let an ally die if there was something he could do to prevent it, and unfortunately his most powerful healing spell—Prayer for Plenty—required at least some proximity to work.

Yet another reason why Crick had insisted on this arrangement, and he knew that once they made it to the castle, once they were capable of holding the inner gate and focusing on the bulk of Mugen’s forces, Throné would be falling back to join him, to help keep their healers safe.

They had fought well together against Kaldena. He was certain they would fight well together again.

Soon enough, that moment was upon them. Their main force moved forward past the inner walls and began climbing the stairs towards the castle, only for more soldiers to greet them there. Those soldiers included a group of archers standing above, who immediately took several shots at Hikari. Fortunately Benkei managed to deflect them, earning himself what he claimed was only a scratch as both the prince and Zeto moved to aid him.

More soldiers began to swarm the plaza, and it quickly became apparent that their own forces were outnumbered. Not that they hadn’t already known that going in.

For a moment, everyone remained still, their weapons drawn, waiting for one side or the other to make a move—and then, from within the palace, a man dressed in a long black robe with golden trim and a red sash emerged, carrying a blade at his side.

He was probably a general of some sort, what with the way he carried himself and how the enemy soldiers suddenly seemed more confident than before. Hikari clearly recognized him as the prince once again assumed a fighting stance.

“Ageha!” he called, his jaw clenching as he stared at the newest threat that had come to greet them.

The man, Ageha, was cordial enough in a condescending way.

“Prince Hikari,” he began. “You’ve arrived just in time. You rats have fallen straight into our trap. Lay down your arms and surrender.”

It was true that there were a lot of soldiers surrounding them, that the archers in particular would make it difficult to progress. They should’ve brought more shields with them to help block against projectiles—a slight oversight on their main force’s part.

However, they had a plan. Even something like this had been accounted for. Because Kazan, when it came to strategy, was unfailingly thorough.

“You’re the one who’s been trapped,” Hikari said to Ageha, his blade drawn, earning him a good deal of confusion from the general.

“What?”

“The eagle has you in his sights.”

And then, without any hesitation, he ran for the Bell of Dawn. Ironic, in a sense, that one of their own tools would be used against them.

“The bell herald’s your defeat!”

Hikari struck it with all his might, the sound of its toll echoing throughout the area... And not even two seconds later, it was followed by the sound of thunder as blue lightning raged, striking down several of Mugen’s soldiers.

It seemed that Hikari had been right.

“Rai Mei will come. Have faith, Kazan.”

There they were, the members of Clan Mei. They stormed the area surrounding the castle, spears and blades drawn, clearly ready to join the fray. In Stormhail, their presence had been somewhat unnerving, to the point where he had often avoided them whenever possible. Much of the Sacred Guard had felt similarly, with a few even showing open hostility towards the people who had decided to make the city’s abandoned fortress their home. As such, he didn’t really know a lot about the clan aside from the stories that Hikari had told him, but those blue uniforms were easy to recognize, and with so many enemies surrounding them, they were certainly a rather comforting, not to mention invigorating sight.

Their army was still outnumbered, but...

As Rai Mei made her intentions clear, as Clan Mei swore allegiance to Hikari and vowed to fight at his side, it felt like they were the ones with the advantage now, the numbers be damned. Sometimes it was the reason that mattered, that determined the outcome of a battle. And there could be no finer reason than fighting to ensure a better tomorrow.

From his place on the stairs, Ageha sneered at Hikari.

“You always kept such deceitful company.”

He then immediately charged towards the prince, blade drawn, only to be intercepted by Rai Mei.

“Go, Hikari!” she commanded, holding the general at bay with her spear. “Leave this area to us!”

“Don’t be so certain,” Ageha practically growled, pushing back against her, but he only managed to budge her an inch or two at most. She would not be bested, and his efforts to overpower her only seemed to fuel her resolve.

“There is nothing we cannot achieve so long as we remain defiant before fear,” she stated. “No matter the obstacle before me, I will not shrink from it.”

Wise, determined words, and Crick could practically see them sinking into their forces, bolstering and encouraging them in the face of such unfavorable odds. They could do this, together, the lot of them. With Clan Mei on their side, they might actually be able to make it through this with not a single life lost.

As Ageha began to struggle a bit to hold his ground, Mugen’s soldiers finally started to move again, coming to their general’s aid, and as yet another attempt was made to strike down Hikari, Benkei intercepted the blade and urged the prince to go on ahead.

This was where their strategy became complicated.

Hikari, who very much believed in fighting alongside others, who understood the strength that came from having trustworthy friends at one’s back, had told them all before the battle that he needed to end the feud between him and Mugen with his own two hands. It wasn’t about revenge, even though it was about seeking recompense for the lives he had taken, for all of the innocents who had been lost to the flames the night that Ku had burned—and it also wasn’t about proving that he was the better swordsman, that he was capable of besting his older brother and therefore earning his place as king.

No, it was quite a bit more complex than that.

Part of it was due to honor. After all, surrounding a man and ganging up on him was far from honorable, even when that man was a monster like Mugen. Another part, however, was that Hikari believed that it would be safer to challenge him on his own. For two swordfighters as skilled as the two princes of Ku, having other people around would make things complicated, and despite being a tyrant bent on world domination, Mugen had a great deal of pride. If Hikari made it to him and challenged him alone, his brother would fight him one on one to prove that he could cut him down with ease. If they all charged in together, however, that option went out the window.

That being said, Hikari had also told them that they could follow him if they wished, because there was always a chance that things could go awry. He didn’t particularly want to find himself on the wrong end of an ambush, which was always a possibility. Prideful or not, Mugen was not above being underhanded in order to get his way.

And so, after a great deal of discussion, a decision had been made. Hikari would go into the castle alone, like he had originally suggested. However, if things were going well outside, if they were holding off Mugen’s army without too much trouble and were certain their own forces could survive without all of them present, then some of them would enter the castle and go after Hikari. A simple enough strategy.

Now all they had to do was prove that their army could manage it.

The battle broke out in earnest once again, blades and spears swinging, the occasional arrow flying. As a few of their soldiers took some hits, Crick watched as a bright green light quickly enveloped them, healing their wounds and allowing them to continue fighting, much to the surprise of their opponents. Just as he had thought, Mugen’s army did not have a healer amongst them, at least not one capable of using magic. From the corner of his eye, he could see the apothecaries doing their jobs as well, pulling one man aside who took an arrow to his arm, passing out concoctions to boost recovery, stamina, and spirit. He made sure to keep the enemy soldiers away, and Throné was doing much the same, expertly disarming and knocking people out with nonlethal blows. Eventually, it began to look like the tide was turning in their favor.

“Seems like our side’s got this place pretty under control,” said Partitio as he used his spear to block a sword and then push aside the enemy soldier who had thought taking a swing at him would be a good idea. Unarmored though he might be, the merchant was more than capable of holding his own in a brawl.

“Then do you think we should go help Hikari?” asked Agnea.

“That is what we agreed on, ain’t it?”

It was, and when Partitio looked back at Castti, the apothecary nodded in confirmation as she finished tending to one of the former gladiators. Ultimately, their healers had the final say in the matter. Hikari had specifically wanted their focus to be on his allies rather than himself, in the hopes that everyone would make it out alive that way, and so if Castti believed that it was possible even if she left the battlefield, then there was no reason not to go to the prince’s aid.

They had discussed all of that before the battle as well, including how best to split themselves up. Temenos, for obvious reasons, had to remain on the field, which meant that Crick would be remaining as well. Throné had also volunteered to stay behind, along with Ochette and Mahina, and out of the remaining four, they had decided to focus on who could provide the most support for Hikari.

All of them had wanted to go, truth be told, but that just wasn’t realistic, and so in the end, they had chosen Castti, Agnea, and Osvald to go after the prince. The rest of them would remain outside and fight with the army. Thankfully, cutting a path forward was easy enough. With Rai Mei keeping Ageha busy, there was no one to give the command to stop them, allowing the three travelers to slip into the castle easily. Now all that remained was to keep Mugen’s forces occupied until Hikari won against his brother. Without a king, there would be no reason for any of them to keep fighting. Some of them were clearly tired of fighting already, their blades wavering—especially in the face of Zeto and Benkei—and every bolt of lightning from the Spear of Levin seemed to break their resolve even more.

Things were going well.

...In hindsight, he should have known better. He should have never allowed that thought to cross his mind. Because by losing Agnea and Osvald, they had lost most of their magic coverage, and by losing Castti, more pressure was ultimately placed on Temenos as their primary healer. So far the inquisitor had been doing a good job keeping himself away from the enemy soldiers, staying within cover where he couldn’t be easily reached. However, in order to heal those on the other side of the castle grounds, he inevitably had to step away from the building that was shielding him and the apothecaries, so that he could spread his magic farther—and Crick did his best to stay close by during those times, to keep him within sight, fighting off anyone who attempted to do him harm. Fortunately, he was a lot faster than he used to be, had learned how to split his attention between what he was doing and his surroundings. For that reason, he was fairly confident that he could keep his friend safe.

Right up until the point where Ageha actually managed to land a decent hit on Rai Mei, only for the wound on her arm to immediately heal thanks to Temenos’s magic, causing the general to growl in frustration.

“Curse you!” he seethed, livid. “Where is... There! Archers!”

He motioned to the few remaining archers standing on the upper level near the castle, and Crick watched in dismay as they all turned to where their leader was indicating before drawing back their bows.

He knew what they were aiming for, who they were aiming for—a quick glance back was enough to tell him that. Fear gripped him as he quickly blocked a strike from the soldier he had been locking blades with before using as much strength as he could to shove the man to the ground. He didn’t have time to properly disarm or incapacitate him, didn’t have time for anything because...

Because Temenos was still out in the open. Because Ageha had noticed him using healing magic and had likely been growing more and more enraged every time someone who should have been taken down suddenly got back on their feet.

Closing wounds, replenishing energy, giving everyone it touched a second wind... A capable cleric really was a boon to any army, especially one that was at a disadvantage when it came to numbers.

Unfortunately, that also meant that removing said cleric could cripple an army irreparably, could shift the tide of battle in an instant.

Ageha clearly knew that.

There were four arrows aimed at Temenos, who was in the middle of casting another spell.

Magic users were always at their most vulnerable when casting.

“Temenos!” he called in warning, but there wasn’t time for the inquisitor to get out of the way—he had no idea that he was even being targeted—and by the time he spotted the archers, it would be too late.

Crick needed to do something. He had to do something. He would never be able to get to the archers in time to stop them, but...

But he could get to Temenos. If he ran like his life depended on it (and in so many ways it very much did), he could reach the cleric before the archers fired.

The choice was obvious, and thanks to his training, he was fast enough.

Crick put himself in the path of the arrows without thinking, without hesitating, believing that he would be able to stop them with blade and armor, forgetting in that moment that the armor he wore was not full plate mail, that there were several gaps in the plating—gaps that were only protected by a very thin layer of chainmail. His Sanctum Knight armor had been highly durable, able to withstand a monster’s claws and capable of deflecting arrows. The few times he had been shot at, they had simply bounced off.

That wasn’t the case anymore.

Four arrows. The first he actually managed to knock aside with his blade (all that training really had paid off). Two others struck his right pauldron and breastplate respectively.

The fourth, however, slipped past his blade, past his armor, and sank deep into his left shoulder where there was no plating, piercing just below his collar.

He couldn’t quite prevent the gasp that escaped him as pain quickly spread throughout his arm and chest, distracting him and causing his sword to slip from his grasp. The sound of it striking the stone rang in his ears.

Another sound rang louder though.

“Crick!”

Suddenly there were hands pulling at him, grabbing him, forcing him to move, to stumble, before they eventually pushed him down until he was sitting on the ground and leaning back against some sort of structure, perhaps one of the pillars supporting that building off to the side. The one that most of their healers had been using to take cover behind and protect the wounded.

That included him now, didn’t it?

Gods, it hurt.

It hurt, being shot in the shoulder. Though not as much as being stabbed in the chest. He did his best to breathe around the pain, but every breath caused the arrow in his shoulder to shift, which was not ideal. He couldn’t fight like this, but he had to. He had to. He had to get back out there and fight, because Temenos...Temenos was...

Temenos was in danger, those archers had tried to kill him, and Crick needed to...he needed to...

Damnit it all, he needed to—

A hand against the side of his face, followed by a firm yet pleading call of “Crick” as his head was tilted up, managed to pull him temporarily from the fog of pain and his own fear as he found himself looking into familiar green eyes.

...Oh. Temenos was right there. He was the one who had called out to him, who had pulled Crick off the battlefield. He was kneeling there in front of him, not a single wound to be seen.

Thank the gods...

Thank the gods he was safe.

Temenos was safe. Crick had managed to protect him. The relief he felt was almost a match for the pain.

Almost.

Fortunately, Temenos was a healer. Even though the eyes looking back at him were worried, the hand against his cheek was gentle and reassuring.

The one that began pulling at the straps on his pauldron, however, was significantly less so.

There were some things that, no matter how many times they were experienced—no matter how many times he told himself that he should be used to it by now—would never become any easier for him. They would always cause his heart to stop and his breath to catch as panic pushed at the edges of his normally very organized mind.

Seeing someone he cared about get hurt, seeing them bleed (for him, dammit, why?) was one of them.

He should’ve paid more attention. Such an unfortunate oversight. Temenos had known there were archers, had watched them attempt to strike down Hikari earlier, and yet he had assumed they wouldn’t pay him any mind, that their attention would be focused on those who were actually fighting. But that had been foolish of him. By stepping just a little too far out of cover, he had made himself a target, because his healing magic had not gone unnoticed by the general.

Unfortunately, he had realized that fact far too late, and in the end, Crick had paid the price for it. That arrow in the knight’s shoulder had been meant for him.

He knew that Crick took his vows seriously, knew that he was willing to risk his life for others, that he would take even a severe blow if it meant shielding someone from harm. That was just the type of person he was, and whether Temenos deserved it or not, his little lamb had chosen to aim all of that knightly devotion towards him, towards someone who was more likely to claim it wasn’t necessary than be appreciative of it, who hadn’t understood the full extent of what it meant.

Thus the situation he currently found himself in.

Pulling Crick off the battlefield and forcing him to sit down should’ve been a lot harder than it was, given the difference in strength between them, but maneuvering him proved to be easy, which meant that he was likely in a good deal of pain. There was panic stirring in those blue eyes as well, something that needed to be quelled, and so the inquisitor forced that wandering gaze to meet his and watched as something undeniably relieved washed over the knight’s face.

Good, that meant he was probably lucid, that there probably hadn’t been any type of poison coating the arrowhead. All Temenos had to contend with then was the wound itself.

Which meant he needed to be able to get to it.

He pulled at the straps on Crick’s armor, eventually pushing aside the pauldron on his left shoulder. It should’ve been wider, should’ve covered more, left fewer gaps, but there wasn’t time to be upset about it. The chainmail came next, which had been pierced far too easily, much to his annoyance. Wasn’t it there to prevent things like this? His Godsblade should’ve been wearing something better, something more durable, but Crick was difficult when it came to spending money on himself, even though they had more than enough funds to spare. Such a frustrating, stubborn man...

A pained hiss reached his ears as the arrow shifted, as his fingers pulled at the fabric and metal links surrounding the wound. He tried to ignore the blood, the sight of it spilling slowly from the hole in his little lamb’s shoulder, the feel of it on his hands even though he was trying to be careful, to not do anything that would cause him to bleed more. Something very much like panic, which he had been attempting to push down this entire time, threatened to rear its ugly head with each passing second, with every trickle of blood, every twitch, every sharp breath—and it was at that moment, between fear and frustration, that Crick finally opened his mouth to say something, only to say the most ridiculous thing he possibly could.

“I’m alright.”

Honestly, of all the—

“You are not ‘alright,’” he stated, frustration winning out as he tore at the fabric blocking the wound from his view. “You have an arrow in your shoulder.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Not that...!” Temenos took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and muttered, “I swear, you knightly warrior types are all the same... What point is there in pretending it doesn’t hurt when it obviously does?”

“I...” He swallowed thickly, tipped his head back to rest it against the wooden pillar and said, “I don’t want you to worry.”

“It is far too late for that, I’m afraid.” Several months too late, in fact. He would never not worry when someone he cared about got hurt, and Crick had crossed that line a long time ago.

Sometimes he wondered if there had ever been a line at all.

...There, finally, he had managed to get to the wound, could see where the arrow had cut past two layers and sunk deep into flesh. The injury itself was relatively small compared to the others his knight had endured, but Temenos knew what the real problem with this was, knew that there were steps that had to be followed. And one of them in particular was well outside his skillset.

He was going to have to pull the arrow out. He couldn’t heal Crick until it was removed, but...well, he had never actually...this wasn’t something he had...

Simply put, he had never done something like this before. Removing an arrow from a person. Apothecaries were better suited to those sorts of tasks, were more familiar with anatomy, with tending to wounds directly as opposed to just using magic. He only knew the bare minimum when it came to field medicine, and only because Castti had insisted on teaching them all. She would have no problem pulling it out. Perhaps one of the other apothecaries could...

No, there was no time for that. Everyone had their hands full with the battle, and the longer he took to do something, the more Crick bled and the more time their allies were left without a dedicated healer. He needed to take care of it. However, he would have to be careful. If he didn’t pull it out slowly and steadily, the shaft could snap, leaving the arrowhead lodged in his Godsblade’s shoulder. He wouldn’t be able to close the wound if that happened.

He needed to remove it cleanly.

Taking a deep breath, he reached for the arrow, doing his best to ignore the feeling of blood on his fingers even as he worried that he wouldn’t be able to get a good enough grip because of it, that his hand would slip and the wooden shaft would break. What was he supposed to do if... Gods, and this was probably going to hurt like hell, wasn’t it, and the last time he’d had Crick’s blood on his hands like this, he had been terrified that the bleeding would never stop, that his magic wouldn’t be enough, that someone else he cared about was going to die, and—

A hand suddenly fell onto his shoulder, firm and familiar and grounding. He looked up and found Throné standing there. She quickly knelt down next to him, took just a moment to survey the situation and then, without hesitation, she reached for the arrow in Crick's shoulder.

“Throné?” he questioned, watching as her slim fingers wrapped easily around the shaft, close to the wound.

“I’ll do it,” she told him, her voice certain. “My hands are steadier than yours. I’ll make sure it doesn’t break.”

“I...” Of course she had noticed. Of course she had seen the way his hands shook—how they were still shaking—and despite not being a fan of blood, she had chosen to come to his aid, to Crick’s aid, because that was just the type of person she was. Considerate and kind in her own ways (in the ways that mattered). “Thank you.”

The thief looked down at Crick, who was clearly trying his best not to let the situation get to him, to remain calm even as sweat began to bead at his brow—not from the heat but from the pain, as well as the understanding that more pain was soon to be on the way.

“This is going to hurt,” she told him.

“I know.”

“I need you to remain still while I pull it out. Normally you’d be given something to bite down on so that you don’t accidently bite through your tongue or lip, but I don’t have anything, so just...try to be careful, alright?”

“A-alright.” Throné’s bedside manner could probably use some work, given how nervous the knight suddenly looked. Not that her honesty wasn’t appreciated.

Crick flinched as the thief tightened her grip, placing her left hand flat against his breastplate in order to brace herself. She would need that support, given how much effort it was going to take. Arrows were not designed to be removed easily, after all.

However, before she could actually begin, before any of them could so much as take a single, fortifying breath, a sharp cry from across the battlefield reached their ears. Temenos startled at the sound, having been completely fixated on the problem before him to the point where he had been blinded to everything else, and as all three of them turned their heads to look, to see what had happened, they found one of their men on the ground with a gash across his chest, spilling blood across the stone. Zeto quickly stepped in to protect him, blocking the next strike, but unfortunately the damage was already done.

The man was still alive though. He was still moving, still struggling. That meant he could still be healed. The problem was that a normal healing spell wouldn’t work, not for something like that. Prayer for Plenty would, but it required time, required proximity, and upon taking a closer look at the battlefield in general, there were others who needed healing as well.

...He had been negligent. He had neglected his duties. In his concern for his Godsblade, he had stopped paying attention to literally everything else. People had gotten hurt because of it. He needed to help them.

But how? If he stepped out of cover now, he would absolutely be targeted again, but if he didn’t, then he wasn’t going to be able to reach everyone with his magic. If only his normal healing spells were capable of reaching farther, if only they were more potent, more powerful, then maybe he could—

“Temenos.”

He looked back at Throné, her gaze sharp and determined, and what she said made him wonder not for the first time if she could somehow read his mind.

“I can take care of Crick. You do what you need to.”

“But...” It was a thoughtful (not to mention logical) gesture, but there was one problem with that plan. “Prayer for Plenty can only be used on one person at a time, and my other healing spells won’t be strong enough to—”

“They will be.”

He blinked at her for a moment, caught off guard by the sureness in her tone, and all he could manage was a rather bemused, “What?”

The corner of her mouth curved upwards into a smile.

“I know you can manage it, Temenos,” she told him. “You always come through when it matters. There is a way, isn’t there? A way to make your spells more powerful, to reach everyone who needs it?”

A way to make his spells more...?

The answer dawned on him in seconds.

“...There is.”

Alephan’s Wisdom. The enchantment he had been trying and failing to learn. When paired with his healing spells, he would be able to extend his magic as far as he pleased, would be able to heal every wound that had been sustained. However, the obvious problem with that plan was that he had yet to cast it even once. Every attempt had been unsuccessful. Why should he expect a different outcome now?

Because I need one.

In the end, it was as simple as that.

With a sigh, he turned his gaze to Crick, meeting those pained blue eyes and wanting nothing more than to take all of that pain away, to ensure that such a look never crossed his little lamb’s face again. He then turned to Throné, who was still looking at him with that confident, determined expression.

She clearly believed in him, and if that was the case, then...

“You will look after him until I can heal everyone?” he asked.

“Yes. You have my word.”

“Alright. Then I suppose it’s worth a try.”

There was nothing else for it, really. The inquisitor got to his feet, walked just a few paces away, and looked out across the battlefield.

He was impressed with how well their forces had managed to keep the enemy away from their wounded, from their healers. The fact that no one had attempted to attack him while he’d been trying to tend to Crick was a testament to just how skilled and dedicated everyone was. He owed it to all of them to mend their wounds, to pull his weight, to keep those in his care alive. All of the necessary tools were at his disposal, he just needed to find them, to make them work.

And in order to do so, he needed to focus. Unfortunately, slipping into thought right now wasn’t really an option, at least not as deeply as he was used to anyway. He couldn’t risk closing his eyes to block out the battle—that would be inviting one of Mugen’s men to take a swing at him—and so he would simply have to focus as best he could while remaining aware of his surroundings. Even if that meant his thought process might suffer for it. He would simply have to make do.

Think, Temenos. He needed to figure this out, to find what he was missing, why he hadn’t been able to get the spell to work. Osvald had told him to master the basics, which he had, but so far it wasn’t enough. The only true requirement for using magic was a source. One had to draw upon a source, usually via an incantation, and for divine spells and abilities, that source was supposedly the god they belonged to. Alephan was the god who had bestowed magic onto humanity. He had valued knowledge and the pursuit of it, which was why his title was that of the Scholarking. Temenos knew all of that, but it didn’t seem to matter. Why was he having so much trouble with this when it had come so easily to Osvald? What else could he possibly be missing?

He searched his memory, his knowledge of the scripture, every story he could recall, something that would help him find—

“You know, I have always wondered why it is that judges invoke Alephan’s name when passing judgment during a trial. Is there a particular reason for that?”

“Oh? That’s surprising, mister holy inquisitor. Aren’t you supposed to be an adherent to the church?”

“Despite popular belief and what many of my colleagues would likely prefer, I do not have the histories memorized.”

It was a memory. A conversation from a few years ago when he had been visiting Timberain, after watching the end of a trial with Liêm. He had found it interesting that, despite not all of them being devout, every judge would sentence someone with Alephan’s name on their lips. He had wondered why. Why Alephan over the others?

Liêm had explained it to him.

“Alephan is the god of wisdom. He didn’t just gift humanity with magic and the rules for governing it—he created all sorts of laws, many of which are still followed to this day. While it’s true that all of the gods had a hand in shaping our world and that the Scholarking is best known for his contributions to magic and his pursuit of knowledge, we who enter into law know him as the one who established our current order—not the natural order of things but our moral code, so to speak. He sought ways for us to live together, to govern ourselves, and therefore established a fair method to judge those who would trespass against us. That is why judges invoke his name when passing judgment, even those who aren’t devout. It’s a show of respect and acknowledgement towards the one whose path we chose to follow in, who paved the way for the truth to be found and justice to be done.”

“How fascinating... I was unaware that the court held him in such high regard.”

“Honestly, Temenos, maybe you should take some time to read more about this yourself. Who knows, it may serve you well one day.”

Little did he know how right he’d been.

Alephan was a god who valued magic, knowledge, order, and a means for seeking justice against those who committed wrongs, who would bring harm upon others for pointless, selfish reasons. After the battle with Vide, humanity had been left without their creators, having only their guidelines, their rules and moral codes to live by, which were still followed to this day. And one did not have to be devout to uphold those teachings.

Osvald had told him that there was no trick to learning Alephan’s Wisdom. He had said that anyone with a sufficient talent for magic could learn it, that a mastery over the basics was enough. But Temenos wasn’t like Osvald. He couldn’t focus singularly on one task, one emotion, one outcome. He couldn’t view the world, view anything, in terms of absolutes and mathematics. His mind didn’t work that way. Instead it was filled with interconnected pieces, each with their own purpose, their place, a sort of organized chaos that he was capable of viewing through a detached lens, compartmentalized so that his own feelings on certain things wouldn’t interfere with his responsibilities, with finding the truth. It would probably drive Osvald absolutely crazy were he to witness it, but that was simply the way Temenos was. The way he’d always been.

And never once had that prevented him from learning magic. Because there was no singular method for learning spells.

He had been going about this all wrong. To use a divine skill was to call upon the god it belonged to. Of course Osvald, who sought knowledge above all else, whose pursuit of magic was unending, had been able to invoke Alephan’s name easily, calling upon his patron’s power without effort. Was that not true for all of them? The situations where they had first used those skills aside, did they not all come easily to them, to the point where they had barely had to think about it at all, responding to their wants and needs, as if those abilities had always been there, simply waiting for the right time to be unlocked? Because they were attuned to the ones who first wielded them?

Alephan was the god of knowledge and wisdom. He wrote the rules of magic into the world, the rules of morality, of law.

He had wanted there to be order, to be justice.

He had wanted those who would follow after him to seek the truth.

And that was something Temenos could relate to.

Right now, what he wanted more than anything was to restore order to their battlefield, and there was only one deity who could give him the means to do so.

His magic had always been stronger when it came from a place of genuine beseeching.

“Alephan,” he began, and unlike all of the times before, when he reached for that well of power within him, it answered his call. Fueled by a source he could finally understand. “Impart your wisdom!”

He could see the light of it surrounding him, could feel the enchantment take hold, and then without hesitating, not even taking a moment to bask in his accomplishment, he used the strongest healing spell he could.

Heavenly Healing washed over their army like a flood, closing wounds and restoring energy, giving all of them a second wind that their adversaries were in no way prepared for. Even the man who had been slashed across his chest was able to get back on his feet, blade in hand, and return to the fray.

That boost of energy wouldn’t last, of course, because unfortunately magic couldn’t replace the blood that had been lost. But for now, at least, it was enough. For all of their allies, it would be enough. There would be time to rest later, once the battle was over, once their side had won. They just had to hold on until then.

...Everyone was looking well. His magic really had been able to spread across the entire area. Hopefully that meant that Crick had been healed too. Throné had seemed pretty confident that she could get the arrow out, that she could remove it cleanly with nothing left behind. Healing magic could cleanse a wound of small impurities, yes, but it wasn’t capable of removing debris. Especially not something as large as an arrowhead.

Surely everything had gone alright. He could trust his assistant. She definitely would have said something to him by now if she hadn’t been able to remove it, would’ve called out if anything had—

“Found you.”

His blood ran cold—that was not a voice he recognized—and as he turned to see who had addressed him, he found yet another arrow being pointed at his chest. One of the archers had apparently abandoned his perch. And to make matters worse, he was accompanied by a swordsman.

The inquisitor cursed his luck, as well as himself for getting distracted again. He really needed to start paying better attention to his surroundings.

The archer pulled his bowstring back as the swordsman moved forward.

“Did you really think we would let you—”

Fortunately, he never got to finish that sentence. Swift as a snake, Throné moved through the shadows cast by the building they were standing by, grabbing the archer’s wrist to prevent him from firing before delivering a swift blow to the back of his head to render him unconscious.

And the swordsman, who had apparently decided that it would be a good idea to charge for him before he was done casting, quickly found his path being blocked and his sword being parried by a far more gifted (and a much more stubborn) blade.

A “Godsblade,” to be exact.

In no time at all, both enemies were disarmed and lying unconscious on the ground, and Temenos found himself smiling despite the attempt on his life.

Crick turned to him, looking worried, and asked, “Are you alright?”

“Should I not be the one asking you that?”

The knight reached up to the hole in his chainmail, gloved fingers brushing over recently mended skin.

“I’m fine,” he stated. “Throné was able to get the arrow out, and your magic healed me. You needn’t worry.”

It was in his nature to deny such a comment, to claim that he hadn’t been worried, but that would be a lie, an extremely obvious one that he didn’t particularly want to tell. Crick deserved better than that from him. Instead, the inquisitor gave his attention to the two would-be assassins, noting that Throné had disappeared (probably to take care of the rest of the archers, if he had to guess), and decided that his savior—the one who hadn’t disappeared—deserved a word of thanks.

Or at the very least, a concession.

“That is twice today you’ve saved me,” he told the knight. “I suppose this means I can no longer fault you for your fretting. It would seem that in this situation, at least, I did require protection. You have my thanks, Crick, although I do wish that you would try to refrain from getting hurt in the process.”

To his credit, Crick did look a little guilty about it.

“I didn’t mean to get hit,” he said, which was obvious. “I forget sometimes that this armor is not as durable as my plate mail was. I shall try to be more careful, though I don’t regret my actions.”

“Of course you don’t.” As irritating as that was. He would prefer that Crick prioritize his own life instead, but he knew that wasn’t going to happen. He was a knight, after all. Knights were meant to protect others. And for the time being, at least, Temenos was the one he had chosen as his charge.

He still didn’t believe he deserved that, but he also didn’t have it in him to argue. Instead, he would let it be. They had far more important things to be doing, after all. Like winning a war.

Or that would’ve been the case if not for the figure that emerged from the castle.

Relief didn’t even begin to describe it, the feeling that washed over him at the sight. Red vestments torn, black hair in disarray, looking extremely worse for wear but whole, alive, and radiant.

He truly was a sight for sore eyes, their unwavering prince.

“My friends!” Hikari called, his voice carrying across the area. “Mugen is defeated! Lower your weapons, the war is over!”

And just like that—just like that, with only a few words of declaration—the sounds of fighting began to cease. Temenos wouldn’t have been surprised if a few still tried to resist, if for no other reason than to salvage their pride, but one by one, every single soldier chose to yield, dropping their weapons to the ground. Even Ageha, as he stood at the end of Rai Mei’s spear.

Complete and total surrender.

Perhaps he had been right before, thinking that most of Mugen’s soldiers didn’t actually want to fight, that they would prefer to simply live their lives without the fear of potentially losing them. Many of them had likely been driven by fear, knowing they had to fight to survive, unable to find another way. They would probably acclimate well to Hikari’s vision for Ku, once they got used to it. The ones who had abused their power, however, who had thrived under Mugen’s ambition, who had seen the weak and innocent as things to be crushed would likely have a lot to answer for.

But that was a matter for another day, another time. The important thing now was that they had won. Up by the front of the castle, he could see Osvald, Castti, and Agnea emerging from the doorway, coming to stand behind Hikari as the prince raised his blade high.

“Today we cheer for victory!” he shouted and was met with a resounding cry. Everywhere around him, his people cheered. Their voices, ringing loud in celebration, marked an end to the fighting, an end to the war, but they were also a prelude to something new, something better.

A brighter future.

...Back when they had first met, Hikari had told him about this goal, about becoming the ruler of his nation and building a kingdom free of conflict, free of bloodshed. A place where everyone was welcome and all people were valued, shaped by common ideals and fellowship.

A beautiful, naïve fantasy. That was what he had thought it to be. The dream of a sheltered prince who knew nothing of the world.

He’d been wrong about that last part. Unbelievably so. Only time would tell if he was wrong about the rest of it, but...

Standing there before his people, Hikari shone like the sun.

...A world without bloodshed, huh?

In this case, Temenos found himself thinking as he listened to the cheers around him, as the people celebrated their soon-to-be king, I suppose I wouldn’t mind being wrong.

Chapter Text

The day after their battle to liberate Ku, to wrest the kingdom from Mugen’s clutches, dawned bright and early with nary a cloud in the sky. It also dawned with a monumental amount of work that needed to be done. That always seemed to be the case for them, didn’t it? Fortunately, Hikari had many capable people around him, people who apparently knew a thing or two about organizing efforts and rebuilding a city. Honestly, Temenos had already been rather impressed with the likes of Kazan and Benkei after all the stories their dear prince had told them, not to mention getting to witness their prowess firsthand, but they managed to outdo themselves in his eyes with just how quickly they started preparing.

The first order of business, after seeing to all of their wounded, had been to get the word out to the neighboring areas that Hikari had dethroned his brother and would be ascending the throne. That way everyone who had managed to escape that dreadful night in Ku almost a year ago would be able to return if they so wished. Many of them probably would, given how much they had loved Hikari, so surely they would want to see their beloved lord be crowned. Kazan had taken to organizing that effort while Benkei had immediately begun putting together groups to help clear away rubble so that they could start rebuilding, wanting to get people’s homes repaired as soon as possible. He had also taken it upon himself to start preparing for a burial, so that all those who had lost their lives—allies and enemies alike—could be put to rest.

Hikari had insisted on overseeing the ceremony once everything was in place. Understandable, since all of them in one way or another had been his people. He was not the type to hold grudges, to bear hatred, and so of course he would want to pay his final respects. That was just the type of person he was. However, upon waking up that morning after a very long and much deserved rest, there was something else he had wanted to take care of first. While he had told them all yesterday, after the battle had concluded, that there was an important matter he wanted to discuss, he had also said that he wanted to wait until the following day to do so, believing that everyone deserved a break and that a long discussion would be better had in the morning, once they were all properly rested. He hadn’t been wrong, but the seriousness in his expression had only made the inquisitor even more curious about what he might wish to talk about. While Hikari was often serious, this much was true, he typically didn’t look quite so grave.

And so, after taking yesterday to rest as suggested, the nine of them now found themselves sitting around a long table in a secluded room that had probably once been used for war councils, eating a rather quick breakfast before getting down to business. He very much wanted to hear what Hikari had to say, which was probably true for all of them, since the prince had made it sound pretty important yesterday.

“Thank you for joining me at such an early hour, my friends,” the prince (soon-to-be king) said, which earned him a few amused responses from their group.

“Already practicing your kingly greetings, your highness?” asked Throné.

“Ah, come on now, there’s no need for thanks,” said Partitio. “You said it was important, so o’ course we’d all show up. Plus, it’s always nice to sit down an’ have breakfast together, ain’t it?”

It certainly was, and the soft, grateful smile that spread across Hikari’s face implied that he felt much the same.

“It is, especially after everyone fought so hard yesterday. I never could have saved my kingdom without you. Mugen was just as strong as I assumed he’d be, given his fixation on strength above all else. One of the reasons for that is...why I wanted to meet with you all today. After our first battle in the throne room, my brother, he... He told me some things about our bloodline—about my bloodline—that I think you all should know.”

“Are you sure?” asked Castti, clearly picking up on the unease in the prince’s voice. “If it’s too personal, you don’t have to tell us. You needn’t push yourself, especially after everything you went through.”

Always considerate, their dear apothecary, and part of that consideration this time likely stemmed from her own experience, back when she had first regained her memory. Hikari had told her that he had no intention of prying into her past, but that he was by her side and would face the future with her, whatever it may be. A sentiment she clearly wished to reciprocate.

“Thank you, Castti,” he replied. “It’s much appreciated, but some of what he said has much to do with what we’ve already discovered on our journey, and I don’t want to withhold information that might be important in the future. At this point, we all know what could potentially be at stake, what those hiding in the shadows might be trying to bring about. The reason we were chosen.”

...Ah.

“You speak of the Shadow,” said Temenos, choosing to put the words out there. That gravity in Hikari’s expression made a lot more sense now. “Of Vide.”

“I do. Mugen mentioned the Shadow when he spoke of our bloodline. He said that my mother’s clan, long ago, attempted to save the world from it, and that the light of her bloodline lives on in me. I asked Kazan what he had meant, if he perhaps knew anything about it, and while most of the records have been lost, he told me that my mother...was descended from the Lineage of Light.”

Those final words were very specifically aimed at Osvald, even though they caught pretty much everyone off guard. Needless to say, that was not a connection that any of them had been expecting to make, and the surprise that washed over their table was almost palpable as the understanding sunk in, as more pieces fell into place.

So many invisible threads that bound them all together.

“The same as Rita and Elena,” said Osvald, his tone thoughtful and quiet as he mulled it over. “I tried to learn more about the Lumina Clan’s history while we were in Montwise but had little success. Most of what I learned came from Harvey’s notes, which focused mostly on his experiments rather than their actual lineage. I take it you weren’t able to learn much either.”

“I wasn’t,” Hikari said, sounding disappointed. “Kazan only told me what he knew off hand. Mugen mentioned that he had tried to eradicate my mother’s bloodline, which made me wonder if he was perhaps responsible for destroying any records we might have had—but it’s also possible that those hoping to protect the clan might have destroyed them instead. It’s unfortunate that there’s no way to know for certain, but since the Lineage of Light has ties to the Shadow, I thought it best for you to know about my own connection to it.”

The furrow in Osvald’s brow was a troubled, contemplative one. Both options that Hikari had proposed were indeed possible. There were many reasons why someone would try to destroy historical records, removing information from the annals of history. It was frowned upon for sure, especially by those in pursuit of academia, but sometimes it was done to protect people, like it might have been done for the Lumina Clan. Personally, Temenos wasn’t a fan of the idea, of destroying pieces of history, documentation that had likely taken years upon years to create, but at the same time he understood why some might believe it to be necessary, why they would resort to such a thing. After all, when countless lives were on the line, sometimes rules had to be broken, sometimes the lines of right and wrong had to be blurred. If it really had been done for the clan’s protection, to save them from the people who would do them harm, then what right did he have to decide if those actions were just or not?

There was so much to consider... He wondered if perhaps the church might have some record of them somewhere. If the Lineage of Light really was tied to the Shadow in some way, to Vide, then surely they existed within the scripture, even if carefully hidden. Perhaps he would look into it once he returned to Flamechurch.

“The other thing I wanted to tell you about,” Hikari continued as he reached down towards the floor and picked something up, “is this.”

When he raised his arm, there was a sword in his hand. It was a brutal, wicked looking thing, with seven prongs—no, eight if one included the tip—all sharp and deadly. While the sword didn’t look practical by any means (not that Temenos knew all that much about swordplay), it had a very intimidating feel about it, especially with that red coloring, a blade that looked as if it had been stained with blood. It obviously held some sort of significance, and clearly it was also recognized by Castti, Osvald, and Agnea given the way their eyes went to it, the way the dancer gasped quietly at the sight. They must have seen it yesterday, during the battle against Mugen.

Perhaps the corrupt monarch had been wielding it. Perhaps it was some sort of heirloom passed down through the royal family. Perhaps—

“Is it alright for you to be holding that, Hikari?” asked Agnea worriedly. “Yesterday, your brother...”

“I know,” the prince replied, “but I should be alright. Unlike Mugen, I have no desire to wield it. The blade seems to...respond to the darkness within us. It has been passed down through our clan for generations. The Darkblood Blade.”

And just like that, Temenos’s mind, the string of thoughts he had been pursuing, screeched to a very sudden and rather agonizing halt. His breath caught in his throat as his chest grew tight, having been completely caught off guard by those words—by that one word in particular—given the significance it held for him, a significance that no one else knew. Right there in Hikari’s hand was another piece to the puzzle he had been trying to solve for the past several years, ever since that horrible night that still haunted him, that was ingrained in his memory, every detail preserved in perfect clarity.

“Temenos, I...I can no longer trust the church.”

There had been fear in Roi’s eyes, a panic unlike any he had ever seen in him before, and when he had shown Temenos what he’d found, it had looked so out of place in his hands.

“The Darkblood Bow. The pontiff and I found it while inspecting the church interior.”

A horrific looking thing, gnarled and sickly with red tendrils the color of blood protruding from the grip. The same color as the Darkblood Blade.

“It...it cannot be allowed to exist. I tried to break it, but I could not. I swear, I tried!”

An otherworldly weapon, unable to be destroyed. Hidden away from prying eyes. Roi had been determined to hide it as well, to keep it out of the hands of whoever might use it for ill. He had left that night, under the cover of darkness, with not even a word of farewell. Only to never return.

He had never returned.

What did it mean for there to be another Darkblood weapon? What was the connection? What even were they? Was the blade incapable of being destroyed as well, and if so, then why? What made them indestructible? Hikari said that the sword responded to the darkness within, that Mugen had wielded it. Was it the same for the Darkblood Bow? He couldn’t imagine Roi succumbing to darkness, so then what happened to him? What became of the bow? Why did he never return?

Who created those weapons? What were they? If they had a connection to the darkness, then were they connected to the Shadow? To Vide? But if so, then why would the church... Had someone been trying to seal it away, or...or had someone been trying to protect it?

To use it?

Why?

Why had it even... Who would—

“Temenos?”

The inquisitor startled, more so because of the hand that suddenly gripped his shoulder than the call of his name. He looked over to his right to see Crick watching him worriedly. Actually, all of them were watching him worriedly, and he immediately began to wonder just how long he had been sitting there, getting lost in his own head. Lost in the past.

Lost in a never-ending web of questions.

“Are you alright?” his Godsblade asked, the hand on his shoulder tightening just a bit.

“I...” He wasn’t sure how to answer that. Saying that he was would be an obvious lie, one that no one would believe, but admitting that he wasn’t would then beg the question as to why he wasn’t alright, why he had reacted the way he did. He had yet to tell any of them the truth. He almost never spoke about Roi, about that night, about what had truly driven him down this path—the answer he was still searching for after all this time.

An answer that he might never find.

What was he supposed to do? Should he tell them? The Darkblood Blade had been set down on the table, looking like nothing more than a decorative, very impractical weapon, yet it surely carried a history soaked in blood. He hated the sight of it, of what it could potentially mean, the possibilities it might represent, even though he was grateful to have found another piece to the puzzle, something that could very well provide at least a few answers depending on how much Hikari knew about the sword.

...He should probably say something. He was still being looked at with varying degrees of concern.

“I’m alright,” he decided, after taking a deep breath. It was best to assuage their worry for the time being. “I was merely thinking about something is all.”

“About the Darkblood Blade?” asked Throné, because of course she would’ve picked up on that, would’ve noticed the moment he stopped paying attention to the conversation. She was rather good at that.

“Yes.” There was little point in lying about it. “Hearing that name simply...sparked a memory, I suppose.”

“A memory?” questioned Hikari, his eyes drifting to the sword. “Does that mean you’ve encountered something like this before?”

“I...”

He had to make a decision.

Right now, in this moment, he had to make a decision. He had to decide whether to tell them or not. A part of him didn’t want to. In fact, most of him didn’t want to. This was something he had never told anyone, that he had never discussed with a single soul aside from the pontiff. No one knew the real reason why Roi disappeared—the official statement was that he had embarked on an investigation into the church but never returned. It wasn’t a lie, exactly, but it certainly wasn’t the whole truth either, and the reason for that was because the existence of the Darkblood Bow had to be kept hidden. Roi had sought to hide it away, to put it somewhere that no soul would ever find it, and proclaiming as much to the rest of the world would’ve had the opposite effect, would’ve invited all those wicked in heart to pursue him in order to get it.

They had been trying to protect him, even though it had all been for naught in the end. And now, almost six years later, what was the point in keeping up the charade? Roi was never coming back. The lie hadn’t saved him. There was no one left for it to protect.

Except for himself.

He didn’t know if that was a good enough reason anymore. Sitting there, surrounded by people he cared about, people he trusted—the ones he would gladly risk his life for—Temenos found himself wondering if it would be better to give them the truth, to talk about something he had never spoken of. He wanted to automatically reject the idea, but at the same time...

At the same time, all of them—every last one—had shared their lives with him. Even the parts that hurt. Hikari had just spoken about his mother, about his bloodline, after striking down his brother, after being forced to kill a friend who wouldn’t yield, a friend he had grown up with, and he did so with all the composure and honesty of someone who knew that the details, no matter how painful, were important.

Because at the end of the day, they were in this together. They always had been. And even though all of them had accomplished their goals, had achieved everything they had set out to do, something was still stirring in the background, a plot they only had a vague notion of. Even the smallest of details could be useful, and thanks to their noble prince, Temenos had found a connection—a connection that he should share with the rest of them.

Even though he didn’t want to.

He didn’t want to.

But he should.

He should.

For all of their sakes, he needed to take that step. If he was willing to risk his life for these people, then he should be able to share it as well. Wasn’t that how family worked?

Wasn’t that how he wanted it to work?

(There was still a hand on his shoulder, warm and unwavering).

“...I have.”

He could do this.

“The Darkblood Bow. Almost six years ago now, my...my predecessor found it hidden within the church.”

He could do this.

And so, steeling himself for what was to come, he told them the truth.

He told them about that night six years ago, about how Roi had come to him with the Darkblood Bow in hand, how he and the pontiff had tried to destroy it only to fail. He told them the real reason why the previous inquisitor had disappeared, how he had taken it upon himself to try and hide it from those who might seek to wield it, only to never return. He told them that the two weapons bore a resemblance, each looking as if parts of them had been stained in blood.

He asked Hikari if the Darkblood Blade was indestructible as well.

“It is,” the prince stated. “As much as I would like to be rid of it, there is no way to destroy it. Kazan has suggested sealing it away within the castle for now where only a few of us will know of its location. I believe that would be best. I would hate for it to fall into the wrong hands. When Mugen used it, he...he became a monster. It transformed him into something that was no longer human.”

“Transformed?” the inquisitor questioned, doing his best to focus only on the details, to not let himself get caught up in what he had just done, in the past he had kept long buried within himself. There would be time to ruminate on his decision later. “Was it perhaps similar to what happened with Kaldena?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t there when she changed.”

This was true. However, there was one amongst their group who had been there for both transformations, and so Temenos turned towards the man in question and simply asked, “Well, Osvald?”

“It was similar,” he stated after taking a moment to consider it. “The way his armor became fused with his flesh, and the darkness that enveloped him before it happened looked just like the power of the Shadow that Kaldena tried to use and that Harvey wielded. Though I doubt Mugen had a direct connection to them. Nothing in Harvey’s notes hinted at such.”

“Then perhaps the Darkblood Blade is connected to the Shadow in some way? If that is what sparked the transformation, it would make sense.”

“I think...” Hikari began, only to cut himself off, which quickly drew all of their attention. His brow was furrowed, his gaze fixed on the sword lying in front of him, with something pensive albeit thoughtful in his eyes. He was clearly trying to line the pieces up, to figure this out, and after a moment or so, he shared his thoughts with the rest of them. “I think it’s more than just the sword that brought about Mugen’s transformation. It’s been bothering me for a long time now, the...darkness in our bloodline. The accursed blood of Clan Ku. I was able to see it sometimes, that dark energy, and it looked just like the magic that Harvey wielded, like the darkness those monsters on the Night of the Scarlet Moon were cloaked in. I’ve...started to wonder if my clan is somehow connected to the Shadow as well, if that’s why our history is stained crimson.”

...Oh, gods.

“That...” Gods, what a terrifying thought. “That would imply that Clan Ku is either descended from or at one point in time ended up mixing with the blood of Vide—or someone who was related to Vide in some way. If my theory about the Shadow is correct, of course.”

“I know.” It wasn’t said with resignation but with acceptance, because Hikari wasn’t the type to run away from things. This too was something he would face head on, without fear. That was just the type of person he was. “And for what it’s worth, I believe your theory is correct.”

“Oh?” Now that was perhaps a little surprising, given that Temenos himself wasn’t even that confident sometimes. It really was just a theory, after all. “And what makes you say that?”

“After he transformed, Mugen—or the thing that used to be Mugen—said something that was...troubling. They’re words I’ve heard before, though I only vaguely recall the incident, and back then I didn’t understand their meaning. Now, however, they carry a much more ominous tone.”

Those dark eyes rose to meet his, and then without hesitation, Hikari spoke the words that would finally give his theory weight.

“‘Quench the flames. Call out to the night.’”

...It was such an old, old story. One that he had told so many times.

“The gods, eager to seal their evil counterpart away, became as four sacred flames and settled into slumber.”

So, so many times.

Everyone sitting there at that table, due to how often they had heard the word “night” used in reference to the Shadow—due to having heard the story of how the Sacred Flame came to be from his very own lips—knew what those words meant.

According to the scripture, Vide had not been killed, because one could not truly “kill” a god, but was instead sealed away and held at bay by the Sacred Flame. Something that had always confused many theologians and religious scholars about that particular story was the reference to four sacred flames, seeing as how there was only one known flame at the cathedral. If there were meant to be four, like in the tale, then where were the other three? Lucian had been one of the scholars who was interested in finding the truth, in figuring out if it was all just metaphorical or if there really were four “sacred flames” in their world. Unfortunately, he had lost his life before he could make much progress.

Temenos, like with many of the church’s teachings, had written it off as a mere story, as a simple fallacy. There were all sorts of discrepancies like that throughout the scripture. That was just how record keeping worked: different people, different perspectives, different writings. However, the Kal people, the Keepers of the Flame, had been guarding an “Azure Flame,” and on Toto’haha, one of the island’s oldest legends involved a blue flame known as the “First Flame.” That couldn’t be a coincidence.

Perhaps... Perhaps there really were four sacred flames in their world. Perhaps the story of how Vide had been sealed away was in fact the truth.

“The truth lies in the flame.”

They were Aelfric’s words. The pontiff had been fond of them, and Temenos had spoken them quite often as the inquisitor. They carried a different weight now.

All of his friends were currently looking at him, waiting for a response. This was his field of expertise, after all, but in all honesty he wasn’t entirely sure what to say. He hadn’t actually wanted any of it to be true, because that meant they really were up against a god. Or those attempting to release a god. One that would see the entire world plunged into an everlasting darkness.

“Well...” he eventually began, knowing that he needed to say something. In the end, he simply went with the truth. “I was rather hoping to be wrong.”

“Ah, come on—that’s not like you, Temenos,” said Ochette in that supportive, positive way of hers. “That story you told us was right! Shouldn’t you be happy about it?”

“While I do enjoy being right, I do not relish the idea of fighting a god.”

“I don’t know,” said Partitio, “I still think it sounds kinda excitin’.”

“Again with this?” sighed Throné, a sigh that was echoed by Castti, which managed to bring a smile to the inquisitor’s face. Honestly, it was hard to feel any trepidation, even when it came to potentially having to face down a dark god, when there were people like Ochette and Partitio who thought nothing of taking on strong opponents, who enjoyed a good brawl and a good challenge. They weren’t afraid in the slightest, at least not right now. If the worst did come to pass, that might very well change, but for the moment it was a welcome reprieve from all the doom and gloom of their conversation.

“So,” began Osvald, attempting to get the conversation back on track, “it’s probably safe to say that the ‘night’ in reference is the Shadow, as we’ve heard it referred to in that manner several times now. And the ‘flames’ in question are obviously the Sacred Flame. Do you know what would happen, Temenos, if the flame at the cathedral were to go out?”

“I do not. There is no record of such a thing ever happening before, not in all of our history. I’m not even sure how one would go about dousing it. Several heretics have tried to over the years, but nothing worked. Understandable, I suppose, that it cannot be put out through any normal means.”

“Does that mean we’re safe?” asked Agnea. “If the Flame can’t be put out, then the seal can’t be broken, right?”

“If the histories are to be believed, then yes, but as we have already seen, the Shadow is still capable of affecting our world, even with the seal. It would be unwise to rest easy just yet. We are still missing quite a few pieces of the picture. However, thanks to our dear Hikari’s information, several more connections have been made. Eventually, we will learn the truth of this matter. For now, I would suggest simply doing what we can. We’ve much left to accomplish yet.”

“Indeed,” agreed Castti. “Right now, the people of Ku need our help. I think that should be our priority for the time being.”

“I can’t ask all of you to stay and help with this...”

“What’re you sayin’, partner? ‘Course you can! We already said we would. I know some of us can’t stay for too long, but for the next week at least, we’re all gonna pull our weight, ain’t that right?”

There was a resounding agreement from the table, earning them all a grateful smile from the prince. It was true that not all of them could remain for the entirety of the time it would take to get the kingdom back on its feet, but at least until their friend’s coronation, they would all stay in the city and do what they could to help. These people needed them, especially after everything that had happened. There was rubble to pick up, buildings to repair, supplies to gather, and then in the midst of all of that, there were many of Mugen’s soldiers that needed to be dealt with. Some were clearly happy to be free of the former king’s rule, while others obviously resented their loss despite having surrendered in order to keep their lives. The troublesome ones would need to be singled out and dealt with accordingly. An unfortunate business to be sure but a necessary one. He would probably offer to help when the time came. Figuring out a person’s motives and coercing information from them was his specialty, after all.

Having gotten all of the heavy conversations that Hikari had wanted to have out of the way, the nine of them took a moment to discuss their plans, figuring out what they should focus on, what required their immediate attention within the city, and once they more or less had all of their duties decided upon, they agreed to disperse but meet back up again for lunch. Mostly to guarantee that all of them actually remembered to eat, that no one got too caught up in what they were doing to the point where they overworked themselves. With this group, it was bound to happen. He was definitely guilty of skipping meals in the past. Not anymore though (he had a busybody apothecary and a nosy little lamb to thank for that).

As they all got up from the table and began to make their way to the door, Temenos found himself being stopped by Hikari.

“Do you have a moment, Temenos?” he asked. “There was one more thing I wanted to tell you.”

“Of course,” he replied, motioning for Crick to go ahead without him (because he had definitely been about to stop and wait, like the loyal knight he was). If this had been meant for more than just his ears, then the prince would’ve brought it up earlier. Clearly it was intended to be private.

Once they were alone, Hikari simply said, “I wanted to thank you.”

“Oh? For what, exactly? If this is about yesterday, then I require no thanks. I was simply doing my job as a cleric.”

“No, it’s not about the battle, although I am grateful for that as well since you kept everyone alive. It’s about what you said to me that night in the desert. You told me that I was capable of driving the darkness out, that I didn’t need magic. I wanted you to know that those words gave me courage, and in the end, you were right. After all these years, I was finally able to conquer it, that darkness within me.”

“Truly?” He had intended for his words to be encouraging, to give his friend some solace, some hope, but for them to have helped that much... “It’s gone then, the darkness?”

“Not gone, but...suppressed. I can no longer hear its voice or feel its presence. During the battle with my brother, before he transformed, it...tried to take control of me, and for a moment, I feared it might actually win. But you told me that faith was enough, that it wasn’t about being able to use magic or being devout. All I had to do was remember why I was fighting, the faith I have in my friends and the faith they placed in me. I could hear their voices—your voices—as I fought. It was that faith that allowed me to find my light.”

“Your light?”

“Yes.”

Hikari placed a hand on the hilt of his blade (the war might be over, but he was still a man of the sword) and then took a deep breath.

During battle, when things would become dire, sometimes his body would start to glow with a dark light. It was near imperceptible, barely more than a flicker, but definitely there, the curse of his bloodline. The accursed blood of Clan Ku. Now, however...

Now, as he stood there with all of the confidence of a prince soon to be king, of a young man who had fought for his ideals and won, his body began to glow not with darkness but with a golden radiance, an almost invisible force swirling around him.

A power that was all his own, achieved through faith and diligence. Through a belief in himself, his friends, and the future.

“My mother once told me that I needed to be a beacon for my people,” he said, the smile on his face a soft one, a grateful one. “And I promised her that I would light the way for others when they were lost. Now, I feel as though I can finally fulfill that vow. This light is a gift from her, from my bloodline, and thanks to my friends, I was able to draw it out. I was always proud of her, my mother, and I understand now what she meant when she told me that a dark night had descended upon the world. I will carry this light into the future and illuminate the way for others. I wish to guide them down a brighter path.”

“I am certain you will.” Hundreds had followed him into battle, believing in the future he wanted to achieve, the kingdom he would build. He was already well on his way to becoming a beacon for his people.

The light faded but his smile did not as he said, “Only because I had an excellent example. We’ve been fortunate to have a shepherd in our ranks.”

“Sarcasm, your highness?” There had definitely been humor there, around the word “shepherd.” He had often referred to himself as such, calling the rest of them his flock. “I am far from an ideal cleric, you know. You could definitely find a better example.”

“I disagree. You’re kind, Temenos, even though you like to pretend that you aren’t. You’ve protected us in countless battles with your magic, and there are many times where your words gave us solace or strength. You often speak the truth as you see it, rather than just offering platitudes, and that’s something to be admired. I, for one, am grateful for it, and I’m sure that the others feel the same.”

...He wasn’t good at this. He had never been particularly good at accepting gratitude or praise. Most of the time he would just brush it off gracefully, or insist that it wasn’t necessary, or offer some sort of sardonic remark in response. But Hikari was unbelievably sincere, and his gratitude was genuine, and Temenos truly had meant every word he had said to him that night, when he had told the prince that he was capable of overcoming the darkness. To make light of it all now, after everything that had happened, felt...wrong, in a sense. He couldn’t do that to his friend. It was his job to guide, after all, and apparently he had done just that. Surely it was alright to accept those words of praise for what they were and be happy that he had done something good? Surely that was alright?

“Thank you, Hikari,” he said, acknowledging the kindness he had been shown. “And for what it’s worth, I believe you will make an exceptional king.”

“Thank you. I hope you’ll be able to stay for the coronation, though I know you have a schedule to keep.”

“Fear not, your highness. I wouldn’t dream of missing it. All of us will be there, I assure you.”

The look upon Hikari’s face was a relieved one, and after thanking the cleric once again (wholly unnecessary, but that was jut the way their prince was), he took his leave, off to another meeting with Kazan and Benkei. There would likely be many more in the days to come. Such was the responsibility of a soon-to-be king.

With a smile on his face, Temenos left the council room.

And almost bumped right into Crick after turning the corner.

Surprise quickly became suspicion, then mild exasperation as he said, “I thought I made it clear that you were to go on ahead.”

The knight fidgeted, just a bit, before replying, “You did.”

“...Were you eavesdropping?”

“No.”

An immediate response but not a stuttered one. He was probably telling the truth.

“Then why did you not do as I asked?”

“I was waiting for you.”

“I do not require an escort.”

“I know, that’s not why I... As your friend, I just wanted to...”

Crick ran a hand through his hair and breathed a frustrated sigh. Whether he was frustrated with Temenos (which would be entirely unfair seeing as how he hadn’t done anything yet) or himself, the inquisitor didn’t know, but eventually his Godsblade managed to find his words.

“I wanted to make sure you were alright,” he said, which was always a kind sentiment but many times an unnecessary one.

The inquisitor crossed his arms over his chest, gave the knight a look and asked, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because that was the first time you...you told anyone about what happened to Inquisitor Roi, wasn’t it?”

...Okay, so...maybe the sentiment wasn’t entirely unnecessary. He had actually been trying very hard to put that out of his mind. Of course Crick had picked up on his mood in that moment, knowing what he did about the previous inquisitor, about the fact that Temenos had seen his predecessor not as a colleague but as a friend, as family.

Knowing that he still had nightmares about the night he left.

In truth, he didn’t know if he was alright. There was a good chance that he would never be alright. But at the very least, upon reflection, he did not regret his decision to tell the truth. That had to count for something.

“It was,” he replied, all of his earlier exasperation fading. “But you needn’t worry about me, Crick. I made the choice to speak about it freely. It would have been...unfair of me to keep that information to myself, after being shown the Darkblood Blade. It was important for you all to know that there are other weapons that may be connected to the Shadow. This conspiracy, or whatever it is, involves us all, and so I cannot be selfish about it.”

“...I don’t think you’re selfish.”

He couldn’t help but smile at that, at those words that were almost mulish, and he found himself wondering if Crick would’ve been willing to make that declaration back when they had first met, or if this was yet another opinion of his that had changed over the past few months. Regardless, it caused a warmth to settle in his chest.

“How very kind of you, my dear Godsblade. While I do appreciate your concern, I truly am alright with this. Or at least I will be, in time. Probably.”

“That’s not very convincing, Temenos.”

“No, I suppose it’s not. Nevertheless, this is the choice I have made, and so I shall stand by it, come what may. There is little else I can do about it, I’m afraid.”

He knew, deep down, that revealing the truth wouldn’t change anything, that he didn’t have to hide things, hide the parts of him that hurt, from the people in his life. They had become his family, after all, one forged through shared goals and struggles, but some habits, unfortunately, were hard for him to break. He wasn’t used to letting people in, to being vulnerable, to speaking about the things that haunted him, that he couldn’t let go of (that he didn’t want to let go of). As an inquisitor, he knew how foolish it was to hand over information—especially information that could potentially be used to hurt him, but...

But he didn’t have to worry about that here. His fellow travelers would never be that cruel. He knew that.

It was just...hard to let go.

Maybe someday.

“Come, I believe that is enough melancholy for one morning,” he said, choosing to move on, both figuratively and literally, while motioning for Crick to follow him. “We’ve an entire kingdom to assist, and so we had best get to work.”

Fortunately, one of his jobs was a fairly simple one. Simple for him, anyway. There were a lot of children in Ku who had either lost their families or needed to be looked after while their parents helped with the rebuilding effort, and so in lieu of doing something physically demanding, he had volunteered to take care of them instead. At least during the morning, anyway. Surely they would enjoy a good story, and while most of the tales he knew were related to the church, he did have a few in mind that were more recent, not to mention more relevant. Their journey across the world had given him quite a lot to work with.

Temenos couldn’t help but smile at the thought.

After all, what better way was there to entertain the children of Ku than by telling them stories about their new king?

“What’re you dawdling for? Hurry!”

“We’ve been invited!”

“Let’s go! It’s not every day you get to see a king be crowned!”

...Huh. Those words were certainly familiar. Crick couldn’t help but feel a momentary sense of déjà vu upon hearing, what with getting to experience two coronations in a month’s time. A rather impressive feat. That being said, the one he was currently about to attend would be vastly different from the one in Timberain, for a variety of reasons. The first obviously being a lack of poison rain, which he was more than grateful for; the kingdom of Ku had been through enough. The second was a lack of foreign dignitaries and merchants, because unlike the coronation in Timberain, this one hadn’t been planned several months ahead. It had actually only been planned one week ahead.

One week... In some ways, it felt a lot longer, and in others it felt like barely any time had passed at all. Within that week, they had accomplished a lot. Much of the rubble had been cleared away, and a few of the houses had been restored. In addition to that, many of the former residents of the kingdom, the ones who had fled from the fires, rushed right back upon hearing word that Mugen was no more and that Hikari would be ascending the throne. That was why, despite all the devastation the city had faced, its streets were packed with people, many of them smiling, filled with energy and anticipation as they made their way towards the castle.

Because of course Hikari would invite all of his people to attend. The nobles, the soldiers, the commoners, everyone. Every last person in the kingdom. His motivations for doing so, however, were quite a bit different from the crown prince of Timberain’s.

To begin with, the reason why they had chosen to hold his coronation so quickly was to provide stability. Hikari didn’t care about lavish celebrations or festivities; he simply wanted to reassure his people that he was there, that they had a ruler who cared about their wellbeing, one who intended to work alongside them to heal their nation. It was meant to give them hope and encouragement, rather than simply to celebrate his crowning. There was nothing wrong, of course, with holding a large celebration—the people of Timberain had certainly deserved it after what happened—and giving the entire city a day off had been a kind gesture regardless of the more selfish motives behind it. However, Crick found that he much preferred this sort of coronation, one that was more reverent yet still rife with cheer, and he swore he wasn’t just saying that because the new king had ended up becoming a close friend.

(Even though that was perhaps part of the reason).

“Oh, wow... Just look at all these people!” said Ochette as more and more citizens began to pour in. “Hikarin sure has a lot of friends.”

“He sure does,” agreed Partitio, looking around at the crowd. “Maybe we shoulda accepted that invitation from Kazan after all an’ stood up top by the stairs—would’ve been easier to see, that’s for sure—but I kinda like bein’ down here too. You can practically feel the excitement. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, gettin’ to see a friend be crowned king. I can’t wait!”

“I know what you mean,” Agnea replied, her hands clasped in front of her and a smile on her face. “Hikari has worked so hard for this. I know it’s a bit rushed, but I’m just grateful that all of us were able to attend. I’m sure that’s part of the reason he chose to have it so soon.”

It was. Crick knew that for a fact. He had been present for that conversation, when Hikari had come to Temenos several days ago and asked how long he would be able to stay in the city, how much time he could spare before needing to depart for the Crestlands. The answer had been a week, give or take a day or two, because when choosing a date for the trial, he did try to give himself enough time to see Hikari be crowned. Unfortunately, there was only so much leeway, meaning that they had to be careful with their time. It was a long trip from Hinoeuma all the way to Flamechurch, and then back across Solistia to Timberain, but thankfully for them, they had the Grand Terry, not to mention a merchant who was actually pretty good at thinking ahead.

That conversation had certainly been an interesting one...

“Me an’ Mr. Osvald already talked ‘bout makin’ a trip over to Montwise to see Regulus, so the four of us can just sail to the New Delsta Harbor together! There’s no point in you two takin’ a ferry when we’ve got a ship. I figured we could head up through the Harborlands, make a stop in Conning Creek to grab supplies an’ check in on Elena, then set sail from Canalbrine for the eastern continent.”

“That would indeed be convenient, given how unpredictable the ferry schedule can sometimes be, aside from the fact that we left our ship at Crackridge, Partitio, not Canalbrine.”

“Oh, I already took care o’ that. See, I asked the crew before we left to sail on down to the Canalbrine harbor. I figured it'd be a pain to have to trek all that way back up to the Wildlands—plus the Crackridge harbor doesn’t really have a place for people to rest. I wanted them to be able to relax a bit before shovin’ off again.”

“You asked them to set sail without anyone there to fend off monsters?”

“Oh, come on now, what kinda boss do you take me for? ‘Course I didn’t! Ochette asked Glacis to keep an eye on ‘em. Can’t ask for better protection than that, right? It sure does pay to know people, legendary beasts included! So, how ‘bout it, Temenos? Feel like taggin’ along with me an’ Mr. Osvald until we reach New Delsta?”

“I think that I would be a fool not to. You have my thanks, Partitio.”

So that was the plan. Hikari had purposely chosen to hold his coronation the day before Temenos needed to leave, before the two of them, along with Partitio and Osvald, would be departing for the Harborlands. Everyone else would be staying in Ku for a while longer yet, to help with the reconstruction, because the city was still a long way from being fully back on its feet. It needed all the extra hands it could get. They were running low on materials as well. That was one of the reasons why Partitio had decided to set off, so that he could purchase supplies and find some more people who might be willing to help. The eastern continent was rife with those who excelled at construction, so in addition to visiting Regulus, he and Osvald were going to recruit more help along the way.

(And take another trip through Harvey’s laboratory, to see if they could find anything more of note. Osvald had said it would be a waste not to).

...It was a lot. There was just so much left to do yet. That being said, he certainly didn’t mind the workload or the fact that their journey was still far from over. He really had been enjoying himself, despite the danger, and even though the nine of them would be splitting up tomorrow, he knew that it was only temporary. Once the trial was over, they would all meet back up again and continue traveling, because there were still loose ends that needed to be wrapped up, and they wanted to take care of it together. Such a thing was only natural, considering how much they had already gone through. The eight of them truly were amazing.

And now one of them was about to be crowned king.

“There he is! King Hikari!”

“Your Majesty!”

The crowd cheered and chattered as the man they had all been waiting for finally stepped through the open doorway, flanked by his loyal retainers on each side, the ones who would help him usher Ku into a new era, who had done so much for the kingdom already. Kazan, Benkei, and Rai Mei stood back as Hikari moved forward, dressed in a much grander set of royal vestments than he usually wore, ones befitting a king—and atop his head was a crown of gold and red, in a style that Crick had never seen before, one that was surely unique to the desert nation.

He made for quite the sight, but at the same time it didn’t...really seem to suit him, the fancy, flowing clothes, the crown. Perhaps that was rude of him to think, but the friend he had gotten to know over the past two months looked much more at home with a sword in his hand than a crown on his head.

“There’s too many people here,” said Ochette as she kept moving from side to side, trying to catch sight of Hikari. “I can’t see anything! Hey, Pops, can I borrow your shoulders?”

Osvald rolled his eyes at the request but still agreed to it, allowing the beastling to sit on his shoulders so that she could see. When she finally caught sight of Hikari, her nose wrinkled a bit.

“Hikarin looks...different,” she said.

“That’s because they dressed him up like a king,” replied Throné.

“Hmm...I’m not sure I like it.”

Next to him, he heard Temenos muffle a laugh against his sleeve, clearly amused. Honest to a fault was Ochette, unafraid to speak her mind no matter how it might sound. There was a childlike innocence to her lack of tact though, which made it hard to fault her for it.

Up by the castle, Hikari descended the stairs and walked across the decorative stone landing, a place where many a speech had likely been made by many a king. He was about to address hundreds of people, and to his credit, he didn’t look nervous in the slightest. Instead, there was a determined set to his jaw and steel in his expression as he took a breath and began to speak.

“People of Ku!” Hikari called out, his voice carrying over the area and drawing everyone’s attention. “Today, I become your king!”

There was even more cheering and smiling at the declaration—this was something that all of them had been waiting for—and as their new king took a few more steps forward, he addressed them all once again. In the most “Hikari” way possible.

“But I stand before you as a friend!”

Without any hesitation—in a single, fluid motion—he took the crown off his head and tucked it away, out of sight and out of mind, much to the surprise of his people.

“Wh-what’s he doing?”

“Where’d that crown go?”

As the citizens of Ku looked on in confusion, those closest to Hikari had a very different reaction.

“That’s better!” Ochette stated with a wide grin as Osvald nodded in agreement and Castti hid a smile behind her hand.

“Agreed,” said Throné, crossing her arms over her chest. “It didn’t suit him at all.”

Agnea was giggling, and Partitio was laughing, and Temenos was once again smothering his mirth in his sleeve.

“I pray he never changes,” the inquisitor said, the words muffled but fond, and Crick couldn’t help but agree, a smile alighting on his own face as Ku’s new king spoke his mind and his heart, putting his own ambitions, his intentions, into words.

“Ku has been a nation trapped in a cycle of bloodshed. Our history is stained crimson. We stand upon countless sacrifices, countless victims—but no longer! Never again will we pay for prosperity with blood! The territories we have conquered, the clans we have subjugated... Today, I set them free! Today, I crush the yoke of Ku’s tyranny forever! And today, we set foot into a future where we are not bound by birth, wealth, or status, but joined in fellowship and love! Even so, we mustn’t forget those who came before. The blood that was shed, the friends who were lost... They have guided us here. And together, we shall all build a better home! Let us step into that future together, my friends!”

(He truly was a remarkable king).

All around them, the people cheered, and the soldiers flanking their new king drew their swords and raised them to the heavens, celebrating the rightful heir to Ku’s throne. The travelers as well were clapping, with Partitio and Ochette hollering, and all of it felt...almost surreal, the fact that he was standing there, taking part in a kingdom’s coronation, as a personal friend of the king. Not in a million years would he have been able to guess that this was where his life would take him after running away from home, after joining the Order and becoming a knight. Gratitude was a familiar feeling at this point, but it was one that he hoped he would never get used to, that would remain with him for a long while yet. He never wanted to take any of what he had found for granted.

He was unbelievably fortunate to be where he was.

And he owed almost all of it to the cleric standing at his side.

A cleric who, despite claiming that he was looking forward to the celebration that was set to follow the coronation, despite saying that he enjoyed parties so long as they weren’t raucous, promptly disappeared once the festivities (which really just consisted of a very large feast) were truly underway. Crick could’ve sworn that he had just seen Temenos near the long table where all the food was, a plate of sweets in his hand as he chatted to some of the castle staff, but that definitely wasn’t the case anymore—nor was he with any of his fellow travelers, which left the knight wondering where he might have gotten to. Had he excused himself early, or was he still present somewhere within the crowd? Finding him amongst so many people felt like an impossibility, especially since the festivities spanned not only the castle but the city streets as well.

And if he did for some reason excuse himself, where would he even have gone to? While the hour was starting to grow late, the sun was nowhere close to setting, so it was unlikely that he had decided to turn in for the day. He wasn’t the type to go to bed early, after all.

Maybe he had simply gone for a walk?

“Are you looking for Temenos?”

Crick whirled around and found Hikari standing behind him, no longer dressed in his ceremonial robes but his normal vestments—still royal but less obvious.

“Yes, your...I-I mean, yes.” He had almost called him “your majesty.” Though he was no longer part of the nobility, some habits died hard. He knew Hikari wouldn’t hold it against him, but he also distinctly remembered that first day they had sparred together when the prince had insisted on being called by his name. He didn’t care for formality, and becoming king wasn’t going to change that. Especially when it came to his friends.

“I believe I saw him heading back to his room,” Hikari told him. “He had mentioned something earlier about needing to finish a report.”

...A report?

“Thank you,” the knight said. “I’ll look for him there.”

Didn’t they already finish all of the paperwork?

Evidently not, because when he arrived at the room he and the inquisitor were sharing within the castle and pushed open the door, there was Temenos, sitting at the table with a pen in hand and a stack of papers before him.

“Temenos,” he called, earning him a glance from the cleric, followed by a grin.

“Hello, Crick,” he greeted back. “Did you grow tired of the festivities?”

“No.” He wouldn’t have minded staying for another hour or so. “But it would seem that you have.”

A breath of laughter, followed by, “I might have been inclined to remain a little longer, especially since the food was excellent, but unfortunately there was still a matter that needed my attention.”

He was clearly referring to the report Hikari had mentioned.

“Is it something I can help with?”

“Not this time, no—and I am almost done, anyhow.”

Sure enough, after adding just a few more sentences, the inquisitor set down his pen and picked up his paper, giving it a cursory read before getting up from the table.

“There,” he said, sounding quite satisfied. “That should be the last report I have to write for a while.”

“What was this one for?”

“It is my formal report for the Inquisition and the church. While I did have Ort deliver that letter for me detailing my investigation, it was much more informal and not something that could be submitted for record. This, however, contains a full—if still somewhat abbreviated—version of the events that took place after the pontiff’s death. I also included my personal recommendation on what should be done with the Sacred Guard.”

Crick found himself smiling at that. In truth, it still surprised him, the fact that Temenos actually wanted the Sacred Guard to continue, to not be disbanded. Originally, he had been certain that the cleric would call for its dissolution, that he would deem it unsalvageable given how deep the corruption had run, how the captain herself had been a heretic plotting against not only the church but the world itself. However, he had surprised him. Temenos constantly surprised him with how unselfish he was, how carefully he thought things through, always considering everything from multiple angles and basing his decisions on their overall outcome, the far-reaching effects, rather than just an immediate solution or problem.

It was admirable and a facet that was so easily missed, that was simple to overlook given the way he often behaved. But Crick had gotten better at seeing past that layer of indifference, at figuring out this complicated man.

Only to realize that his motives really weren’t that complicated at all.

“I don’t remember if I ever thanked you for that,” the knight said as that feeling of gratitude from earlier slowly returned, just softer, more focused. “There are many who would have called for an end to the Sacred Guard after what Kaldena and those loyal to her did. I’m grateful that you chose not to.”

“I merely chose what was practical,” he said, even though Crick was sure that practicality was not the only reason he’d done it. “As I have said before, both the church and the people are still going to need Sanctum Knights. Fortunately, Liêm agreed with me. Now I simply need to get the church on my side as well. I don’t believe that should be too difficult to manage. While I cannot rely on the pontiff’s authority anymore, I do have at least a decent amount of my own as inquisitor, and most of the leaders within the church are reasonable people, so they should be willing to listen to my suggestions.”

“Let us hope so...”

Temenos gave him an amused smile before stacking all of his papers together into a pile.

“Fear not, Crick. I have no intention of relenting on this matter. In a few months or so, this will all be over. Our trial will be a success, the corruption will be weeded out, and things will start to return to the way they should within the Order. I assure you that I will do everything in my power to make it so. Once all is said and done, I am certain that you will be able to return to the Sacred Guard.”

...What?

Return to the...

Crick simply stood there for a moment, confused. He didn’t understand what the inquisitor was saying—or, well, he did, but it didn’t make any sense.

Why would Temenos think that he was... When did he ever say that he was going to... Oh.

Oh, that’s right, he...he never actually told him, did he? About his plans, about what he wanted to do when this was over. He had certainly thought about it several times, had confirmed his choice for himself more than once. There was even that time back on Roque Island where he had said some of it aloud, but Temenos had been sleeping at the time. Looking back, despite all of their conversations about Kaldena and the trial—despite all those evenings spent doing paperwork together, discussing the law and their investigation and the church, the two of them had never really talked about it, had they? Not once had he told Temenos his intentions.

Of course the inquisitor would assume that he’d be returning to the Sacred Guard. It made the most sense. Because Crick had never given him any reason to believe otherwise.

He should fix that.

“Temenos.”

“Hm?” was the distracted response he got as the inquisitor aligned his papers, their edges thumping quietly against the table.

In no uncertain terms, he needed to tell him.

“I have no intention of returning to the Sacred Guard.”

Chapter Text

Temenos had always prided himself on how little he allowed his thoughts to show, how easily he could maintain his composure—even during some of the most trying of times. Mindt used to tell him regularly that it was impossible to know what was going on in his head, that it wouldn’t hurt to lower his mask now and again so that those around him could maybe understand what he was thinking. He had always brushed her off with an amused smile and a glib remark, because that air of indifference was something he had honed to perfection over the years, half because he was simply inclined that way and half because it made his job easier. An inquisitor couldn’t be open, couldn’t be readable, couldn’t give in to shock or be surprised. After all, he needed to be able to keep a level head when dealing with situations, which meant dampening and compartmentalizing as much as possible.

That being said, however...occasionally something would catch him off guard. Occasionally, he would find himself faced with a particular circumstance or outcome that he hadn’t been expecting, even though he genuinely believed that he was good at reading into things, at planning, at just...knowing what to expect. Lately, however, it had been happening more and more often. He would suddenly find himself in situations where he didn’t know how to react, didn’t know what to say, where what he heard or saw was at such odds with what he believed to be true that he just...wasn’t sure how to reconcile it.

Simply put, he wasn’t used to being caught off guard.

And yet one person in particular seemed to excel at doing just that.

When had the tables turned, he wondered, before every thought was immediately wiped from his mind.

Slowly, so very slowly, Temenos straightened up, his papers still clutched in his hands, and turned towards Crick. His (probably very wide) eyes were met with pure sincerity, with an expression that was earnest and firm and certain, resolute in the declaration he had made. A declaration that didn’t make any sense.

No matter how he turned it over in his head, it just didn’t make sense.

Crick had spent several years training to become a knight. He had taken great pride in his anointment, in his duties, and even now he still referred to himself as a Sanctum Knight. He still cared greatly about the Sacred Guard and its fate, to the point of thanking him for not choosing to abolish it. So then why would he...?

Why would he give that up?

“You...don’t?” he asked after finding his voice, even though it came out far more hesitant, far more lost sounding than he had intended. He couldn’t help it though. Nothing about this made sense. It didn’t make sense to him.

“No,” the knight confirmed, just as sure as he looked—and then, in that same soft, resolute tone, with that same look of sincerity on his face, Crick made his intentions known. “I told you, back when we first met, that I wanted to join the Inquisition. That goal hasn’t changed. When this is over, I intend to return to Flamechurch and work alongside you, both as a member of the Inquisition and as your knight. I know you have told me before that you don’t need to be protected, but...I still want to. I want the arrangement between us to be official. At your side, I know I can make a difference, so...please, Temenos, I would ask that you allow me to serve with you, to protect you. As both your Godsblade and your friend, this is what I want.”

“You...” He could feel his eyes widening even further as the words slowly sank in.

...He had to be dreaming. Surely this was some sort of dream. He must have fallen asleep at the table while writing his report or something, because the world was...the world wasn’t that kind. Reality was never that kind to him. It had to be a dream, except...

Except Temenos rarely dreamt of kind things. All he ever saw in his dreams was fear and blood, the faces of people who he could never see again, along with the loneliness left in their wake. Rarely did he see anything else. And so this probably wasn’t a dream. Which meant that those words were genuine. Crick did not want to return to Stormhail, but he also didn’t want to stop being a knight. Instead, he wanted to be the inquisitor’s knight. Temenos’s knight. He wanted to work together in an official capacity rather than just the unofficial one they shared now.

He wanted to... He wanted to stay.

Crick wanted to stay.

But Temenos had thought...

He thought he would be alone.

He had been certain that he would be alone.

Because the world really wasn’t that kind. Not ever. Always stealing any sort of comfort he found and forcing him to adapt, to cope, to survive. The parents he had never gotten to know, Roi, the pontiff, all of them had left him behind, and he had been certain it would happen again, that he would be left alone at the end of his journey, that if he wanted to hold on to the relationships he had, then he would have to make an effort to do so, would have to come up with excuses to travel to Stormhail in order to spend even just a little bit of time with his dear Godsblade, because what reason would Crick possibly have to visit Flamechurch in the midst of his knightly duties, and yet...

And yet that didn’t seem to be the case, did it?

Because Crick didn’t plan on leaving.

He wasn’t leaving.

And just like that, Temenos realized that he could have it.

He could actually have it, that future he had wanted, the one where Crick resided in Flamechurch with him, where the two of them worked together, shared meals together, where they didn’t have to part ways at all. He had written it off as an impossibility, had thought that it wouldn’t be feasible. He had been certain that Crick would want to return to the Sacred Guard and help it rebuild once all was said and done, perhaps even rise through the ranks, become a senior officer—maybe even make captain someday—but...

But that wasn’t what Crick wanted. Instead, he...he wanted to stay.

Crick actually wanted to stay.

With him.

And he didn’t know what to do with that.

“...Temenos?”

He didn’t know what to do or what to say. He really should say something though. After a declaration like that, he needed to say something, but...but what? What would be appropriate? How was he supposed to respond when he couldn’t even sort out how he felt? Half of him was still frozen in shock while the other half was overwhelmed. He usually didn’t have a problem with finding his words, but this time there was just nothing. Not a single thing was coming to him. He couldn’t remember a time when he had been rendered so utterly speechless, and while the fluttering feeling in his stomach was very much akin to panic, it was also...something else.

Something he didn’t have a name for.

“Are you...?” Crick began, his brow furrowing as a flash of nervousness flickered across his face. “Did I say something wrong? Is that...not something you would want? I didn’t mean to—”

“No, I... That’s not...”

Crick was not at fault here. Not for anything. His little lamb didn’t need to apologize. Temenos just didn’t know what to say, that was all. He didn’t have the words. Because it wasn’t often that something he was certain of, that he had believed to be an undeniable truth, ended up shattered so spectacularly.

Despite wanting it (far more than he was willing to admit), he had never prepared himself for this outcome.

Gods, he really needed to say something, before Crick got the wrong idea.

“If...if that is what you...” he tried again, attempting to force the words up his throat which suddenly felt too tight. “If that is what you want, then...”

“It is.”

No hesitation, no doubt, only conviction, the belief that this was the path he wanted to walk. One connected to Temenos.

One where he didn’t leave.

Crick didn’t want to leave, and...

...It was too much.

It was quite simply too much—the gratefulness, the fear, the confusion, the overwhelming amount of hope, because he didn’t...

He didn’t deserve that kind of devotion. Yes, he had wanted Crick to return to Flamechurch with him, for the two of them to continue working together, but he hadn’t thought that Crick would want that too. He was not an easy person to work with, he knew that, and so Temenos had never bothered to bring it up, to ask him what his plans were once this was over, because it would’ve been far too selfish to voice his own wants, to ask his little lamb if he would consider staying in the sleepy mountain village instead of returning to Stormhail. Crick was a genuinely good person who cared about others, who wanted to protect people, to make a difference in the world, and how was he meant to do that, to be a sword and shield for the weak if he was stuck in Flamechurch, stuck with Temenos?

And yet that was what he wanted.

It didn’t make sense.

“I...”

He needed to say something. As confused as he was, he was also happy, and he should tell Crick that he was more than welcome to return with him, to work with him, to stay, but the words kept getting lost.

He wasn’t good at this, and unfortunately his usual fallback, his tried-and-true defense mechanism, to downplay and color things with humor wasn’t an option. He couldn’t do that. Not this time. Not when he was being faced with such honesty and not after getting told exactly what he had wanted to hear. It wouldn’t be fair of him. He was trying to be more honest with the people he cared about.

Crick deserved honesty from him, but...

“I suppose I...” But gods, what was he supposed to say? How was he meant to put it all into words? He wanted to retreat into himself for a moment, take some time to think, but he couldn’t really do that in the middle of...not when Crick was looking at him so...

Seriously, what was he supposed to—

“Temenos.”

Startled by the call of his name—in a voice that definitely wasn’t Crick’s—the inquisitor turned towards the door, which had apparently been left open, and found Throné standing in the doorway. She was staring at him, her expression almost carefully nonchalant, but that gaze of hers was piercing.

Simple and to the point, she told him, “I need to talk to you.”

Now.

That last word wasn’t said but it was implied. He almost wanted to refuse just because, just to be difficult about it, but he had also been searching for an escape, a way to give himself some time to sort out his head before saying anything more to Crick, and this was the perfect excuse to do it.

“Yes, of course,” he said, clearing his throat and schooling his expression as best he could into the calm mask he was used to, the one he was known for.

(The one that felt like it might fall off at any moment).

He set his papers down on the table and made his way to the door, but before he could apologize to Crick in any way for cutting their conversation (if one could really call it that given his inability to speak during it) short, a hand grabbed him by the wrist and began pulling.

“Wha—Throné!”

“Come on.”

“There is no need to—”

“I promise I’ll bring him back in one piece.”

“O-of course.”

Gods, but his friends were aggravating sometimes. He had little choice but to allow the thief to drag him down the hall, down the stairs, and then eventually outside where she circled around to the back of the castle, to a place where there weren’t any people celebrating, before locating a broken stone pillar sequestered in the shade and forcing him to sit down on it.

He was maybe a little bit grateful for that, not having realized how unsteady he was until he was seated. The fresh air was nice as well, helping to clear his head as the quiet surrounded him, giving him a chance to breathe and relax if only for a moment.

“Better?” his assistant asked.

“Very,” he replied, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, allowing that flood of emotions to settle within him—still there but no longer on the verge of overwhelming him. He couldn’t really remember the last time he had felt that way, wasn’t sure if he had ever felt quite that cornered before, and for such a completely ridiculous reason as well.

Why was he so bad at facing sincerity? Why was he afraid of being given the things he actually wanted?

Why had he been rendered completely speechless in the face of such an earnest declaration?

Why?

Why was it that Crick always seemed to find a way to...

“Do you need a moment?” Throné asked.

“Possibly. Although you...you said that you needed to speak with me.”

“That can wait.”

...Could it now? That was actually rather telling. Suspicion quickly began to well up as he narrowed his eyes at her, scrutinizing her behavior, her sudden appearance at his room that had been far too timely, and it didn’t take long for him to arrive at what had to be the correct conclusion.

“You overheard, didn’t you?” he asked, even though it wasn’t a question. He already knew the answer, and she was obviously aware of that.

“Not intentionally,” she replied. “I was actually coming to tell you something, but then I heard the two of you talking, so I decided to wait. Then I heard you panicking.”

Oh, honestly, of all the—

“I was not—”

“You were,” she cut him off, sharp and precise. “I can tell. You get this sort of choked quality to your voice, and you have a hard time finishing your sentences.”

...Dammit. She kind of had him there, didn’t she? Sometimes he hated how good she was at reading people, how easily she could see through him. But just because she was maybe (just a little bit) right in this instance, that didn’t mean he couldn’t be irritated about it.

The thief breathed a deep sigh, crossed her arms over her chest, and—just to add insult to injury—told him, “You know, for someone who’s pretty confident about most things, almost to the point of being arrogant, you’re actually kind of insecure when it comes to personal stuff.”

He glowered at her but was unable to come up with a retort, because unfortunately, as much as he hated to admit it, there was perhaps some truth to that statement. His reaction to Crick’s proclamation was proof enough. He hadn’t known how to deal with it, because he had never thought that Crick would choose him over his fellow knights, even though he...kind of already had to an extent. Temenos had just assumed that when all was said and done, he would want to help the Sacred Guard rebuild, to help it become the organization he had believed it to be, the one it was supposed to be. And he would have been good at it too. He wasn’t the type who would fall to corruption or give in to self-interest, was in fact someone who could stand as an example for others, a guiding light in what was sure to be a time of uncertainty for the organization.

By the gods, he would have been good at it, without a doubt.

But instead, Crick wanted to stay. With him. And that was what Temenos had wanted too, but... But he didn’t understand why. Why would Crick want that? It was true that one of the first things the knight had said to him was that he wanted to join the ranks of the Inquisition, and it was also true that as the inquisitor, Temenos did have the authority to grant such a thing, but...but why? Why would he... Crick was young and bright and idealistic, someone who believed in others and wanted to make a difference in the world, be a force for good, a sword and shield for the people—that was what he had said—but how could he possibly do that, do any of it, if he tied himself to...

To someone who wasn’t any of that?

Crick had wanted to join the Inquisition because he was inspired by Roi, by his kindness, a hand that had reached out to him and given him something to believe in during the darkest period of his life, but Temenos wasn’t like his predecessor. He wasn’t like him at all. He didn’t have a rigid sense of morality or unwavering faith in other people or even in the gods. He wasn’t altruistic or hopeful or driven by a desire to do “good” in the world, to make it “better.” Did he want those things for the world? Yes. But as far as achieving them himself, he just...wasn’t that sort of person.

So why would Crick want to work alongside him on a more permanent basis and dedicate himself to helping and protecting him in an official capacity? Didn’t he want to do something more with his life? Something better?

It didn’t make sense. It didn’t make sense at all. This was what Temenos had wanted, yes, but he had never had any intention of telling Crick that, of asking him to stay in Flamechurch, either by taking up a post there or joining the Inquisition. He had decided that he couldn’t be selfish about it, that his own wants didn’t matter, that Crick deserved to choose his own path and choose it for himself. Attempting to influence it in any way would have been unfair of him. He couldn’t do that to someone he cared about, even if it had meant returning to Flamechurch alone.

He had never planned on saying anything.

And yet Crick had chosen to stay with him anyway.

Why?

He wanted to ask him, but at the same time he didn’t. What would the answer be? What if it was only due to a sense of obligation, because the knight still felt like he owed the inquisitor for saving his life or something? That was quite possibly the last thing he wanted. It wasn’t a good enough reason. Crick didn’t owe him anything. But what other reason was there? Why would he want to—

“You’re doing it again,” said Throné, pulling him from his circular thoughts. “You’re panicking. And don’t try to tell me you’re not. Shouldn’t you be happy that he doesn’t want to return to the Sacred Guard? You won’t have to travel all the way to Stormhail just to see him.”

He was happy, but...

But the world was never that kind.

Not to him.

He had thought it would be an impossibility, and now that it wasn’t, now that what he had wanted was actually within his reach, he didn’t know how to...he wasn’t sure how he...

That feeling that was so much like panic and yet not was still...

A deep sigh came from Throné as she shook her head, one hand settling on her hip while the other reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose as she said, “Look, Temenos, I told myself that I wasn’t going to get involved in this, and for the most part I’ve kept my mouth shut, but I think it’s about time you stop lying to yourself and just own up to it already.”

...What?

Own up to...?  What did she...?

Temenos knew, on some sort of instinctual level, that he was probably going to regret asking. There was something very...final and definitive in those words, in the tone of her voice and the look on her face, because Throné wasn’t the type to beat around the bush or sugarcoat. She was blunt and to the point, and sometimes that was a good thing, sometimes it was needed, but it made him wary of what she might say, of what she was choosing to bring up.

Half with curiosity and half with a substantial amount of trepidation, he asked her cautiously, quietly, “Own up to what?”

Those dark eyes met his, sharp and insistent and observant, alight with absolute certainty, a touch of understanding, and just the barest hint of sympathy, of apology, for what she was about to do.

He knew that he shouldn’t have asked, but the words had escaped him anyway. And so Throné, without hesitating, without moderating, gave him the truth.

“You’re in love with him. You’re in love with Crick.”

...In that moment, it felt a bit like the world—like everything, really—suddenly came to a stop. And not a smooth, gentle stop either. A grinding, screeching one, like the sound that might be made if Partitio’s steam locomotive (once it was built) were to veer very unexpectedly off its tracks.

He knew that he shouldn’t have asked.

He should not have asked.

Because Temenos...had been trying so very hard not to put a name to it, not to label it, always avoiding any and all thoughts that attempted to go in that direction. That fond, comfortable, content feeling that made him want to stay in it, to sink down and remain and actually pray to the gods that it never went away while at the same time being distinctly afraid of it, afraid of what it might mean, afraid of becoming too fond and too comfortable and too content to the point where he could no longer go back, where he would grow so used to it that losing it might break what remained of his heart completely.

And yet there was Throné, giving a name to it, the one he hadn’t been expecting and certainly didn’t want.

He didn’t want it.

Because Temenos did not do relationships. Not like that, at least. It was a terrible idea given the type of person he was, his profession, everything that life had taught him. Allowing himself to get that close to someone was an excellent way of getting hurt. Whether it was physically, mentally, emotionally... Accidentally or intentionally... Whether it was by leaving or by betrayal, it didn’t matter. The methods didn’t matter. Keeping at least some distance was better, was safer, and he had been trying to do just that—and he needed to continue to do it, which meant telling his assistant, in no uncertain terms, that she was wrong.

Even though...

(Even though a part of him, deep down, was beginning to think that she wasn’t).

“You’re wrong.”

The look on her face was just the tiniest bit unimpressed.

“Am I?” she asked, managing to not sound sarcastic while at the same time clearly not believing him.

“Yes,” he stated. “I am not... I do not...”

“...You can’t even bring yourself to say it, can you.”

Damn it all—curse her and that knowing, unaffected... How could she just... Why was she so certain of...?

“Why would you even think that I...?” It’s not like he treated Crick that much differently from the rest of them. Yes, he enjoyed teasing him because his reactions were amusing, and yes, he enjoyed spending the majority of his time with him because there was just something very pleasant and reassuring about his company, but that didn’t mean that he was...that he had...

Something shifted in Throné’s expression, her eyes softening even though everything else about her remained certain and unwavering, and once again he found himself thinking that he shouldn’t have asked. Asking this woman questions was a terrible idea, because she would state the truth as she saw it, which was normally something he valued but not in the cases where it came to himself, when he was the one being analyzed and pulled apart, examined piece by piece and then put back together. Sometimes he hated just how much she saw.

This was one of those times.

“Because I was there, Temenos. I was there when you found him in Stormhail.”

Something in his chest suddenly lurched as his throat grew tight once again, this time for a completely different reason as any retort he might have been preparing to make died on his lips.

Because he knew—Temenos knew what he had been like at that time, the memory clear as day even though he wished it wasn’t, even though he would just as soon forget the image of bloodstained snow, the feel of ice-cold metal and skin against his fingers, the barely there flickering of a life’s flame as he desperately tried to rekindle it while fear—unbridled and all-consuming—had gripped him tightly, refusing to let go.

Crick had told him only hours before that horrible, dreadful night that he wanted to believe in him, had even protected him in the graveyard and said that Temenos had a Sanctum Knight at his side, proving that the inquisitor wasn’t alone, that he did have at least one ally within the church—and how was that loyalty, that kindness repaid?

By almost getting him killed. By leading his little lamb to slaughter.

He wasn’t worth anyone’s faith.

“You were terrified, Temenos,” Throné continued, not unkindly but still somewhat blunt despite the softness in her tone. “It was the first time I saw you genuinely afraid about something.”

Of course he had been afraid, and of course he had been incapable of hiding it because—

“He was dying, Throné.” Crick had been dying, blood spilled carelessly, cruelly over the snow.

“I know. And you used all of your magic to save him. You ended up with frostbite on your hands and were at risk of hypothermia because of how long you were in the snow. And later, when we eventually found one of the people responsible for what happened, I saw you drop your mask completely. You were furious. I had caught glimpses of those emotions from you before, but never anything like that. And so, I decided to start paying more attention. As a Blacksnake, I was taught how to read people. I’ve spent most of my life observing others, because in order to steal, you need to know your mark. You have to understand behaviors. People like to pretend that they’re complicated, but...most of the time, they aren’t. That includes you, Temenos.”

The inquisitor kept his mouth shut, unwilling but also unable to say anything. He knew that Throné was observant, knew that she saw things in people that even he sometimes missed, because living in a city as big as New Delsta had taught her a great deal. And as his friend, she had learned how to see through him, whether he wanted her to or not. Their conversation on Roque island, some of the things she had said to him—not to mention the way she had said them—made a lot more sense now given the conclusion she had come to. He wondered just how long she had been laboring under that impression (he didn’t actually want to know though).

Unfortunately, due to his lack of response, Throné apparently decided to explain it to him. In a way that immediately made his face start to feel hot.

“You aren’t as subtle as you think, or maybe you just hadn’t realized it yet, but your gaze sometimes lingers, and you tend to smile more when he’s around. You’ve become a lot more honest lately as well, more comfortable with letting how you actually feel show—including how much you worry about him getting hurt, to the point where you actually ignore everything else.”

“That was one time—”

“Twice. Both during the battle last week and at Stormhail. When we dragged him back to the inn that night, you had already exhausted yourself, but you insisted on helping Castti and then sat by his bedside all night. You fought Cubaryi on almost no sleep, and maybe that’s why you lost your composure so easily, but it doesn’t change the fact that you showed her no mercy during that fight, because she was partially responsible for what happened to Crick. Getting mad like that on someone else’s behalf, wearing yourself out looking after them, wanting to spend as much time as you can in their company while at the same time blaming yourself for what almost happened...”

“I don’t—”

“You do, though. For some reason, you haven’t been able to let it go. Not completely. Even though you weren’t the one responsible. It wasn’t your fault.”

...But it was. It was his fault. He was the one who had chosen to bring Crick into his investigation, who had allowed himself to trust another person, trust a Sanctum Knight, and because of that, his little lamb had nearly gotten killed. It had been a very close thing. If he had been even a minute later, if he hadn’t been blessed by Aelfric, there would have been no saving Crick. He would have died, having been betrayed by the organization he had believed in, by people he had trusted, and that was unforgiveable. Crick was a good person—a sincere, kind, and earnest young man who had just wanted something to put his faith in, something to believe in, who deserved so much more than what he had been given throughout his life and yet never really complained or asked for more, who was content to carve his own path, who deserved to live a fulfilling life, to be happy, and he couldn’t... He couldn’t do that with Temenos.

By insisting on protecting him, on being at his side, there was every chance that Crick would end up getting hurt again. Or killed.

And Temenos would rather die than allow someone he cared about to die for him.

“I can tell what you’re thinking, you know,” his assistant said, proving yet again how well she knew him. “But it’s too late to try keeping him at arm’s length. Crick made his intentions pretty clear earlier, and it’s obvious you want him to stay. Beating yourself up about what happened won’t change anything, and for what it’s worth, having him around is good for you. You’ve actually been sleeping more and taking better care of yourself—and like I said, you’ve become more honest and maybe even less cynical about things. More optimistic, I guess.”

Perhaps some of that was true, but...

“I fail to see how that means I am... There is nothing in there to imply that I...”

Gods, he still couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“We are friends and colleagues, Throné, that is all. You are reading too much into it.”

This time there was definitely amusement on her face, because of course Throné couldn’t maintain that unaffected air for too long as she raised one delicate brow and asked him, fighting back a smile, “So you don’t think he’s attractive then?”

...Ah.

That was, admittedly, something else he had been trying very hard not to think about, and for far longer than he cared to admit. Temenos might’ve been embarrassed by the way he froze at those words, or by the fact that his face was definitely red this time, but he found that he was far more shocked at how his dear assistant had just thrown that out there like some sort of weapon, poking at yet another place that was rarely ever touched.

She clearly already knew the answer. She had said it to prove a point.

Because yes, Temenos...did find the knight attractive. But it was perfectly normal to appreciate a person’s looks. Crick was adorably handsome, he had thought that for a long time now, with his big blue eyes, golden-brown hair, and the strength and stature that came from years of training to become a knight. Those kinds of things were simple facts though—it didn’t have to mean anything if he didn’t want it to.

However...when combined with the fact that he also found Crick attractive as a person—the reason why he enjoyed spending time with him, talking to him, finding comfort in his presence—it sort of...painted a rather different picture entirely. Which was why he had been trying not to think about it. He didn’t need that kind of headache.

And yet here Throné was, throwing it all in his face.

“I don’t understand why you’re so against admitting to it,” she said. “I get that as an inquisitor, you have to be careful when it comes to personal things, but you already crossed that line a long time ago and lying to yourself isn’t going to change that.”

“You’re wrong.”

“About what?”

All of it.

“I do not...”

Another sigh, followed by an ultimatum.

“If you can look me in the eye and say it without faltering, then I’ll believe you.”

...He was perfectly capable of lying. He could very easily lie to a person’s face, and Throné knew that, but the reason she had given him that stipulation was because she also knew that this time, he...he couldn’t do it.

He just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t even say the word, let alone say it without faltering, without breaking eye contact, without becoming flustered. Few things were capable of actually flustering him, but this was definitely one of them, and if he tried to do what she had asked, he would fail.

He would fail quite spectacularly.

Because if he really thought about it, if he allowed himself to consider what he wanted, pushing aside things like what was appropriate, what he did or didn’t deserve, then...

He wanted a life spent together in Flamechurch. He wanted a life similar to the one they were living now, just more permanent, with fewer life-threatening situations, where that domestic thought he’d had while eating pancakes aboard the Grand Terry could be a reality instead of just his imagination getting the better of him.

And if Crick were to show that kind of interest in him, the kind that Throné was claiming Temenos had, then...well...

He would probably reciprocate it.

Because at the end of the day, no matter how much he tried to deny it, to justify it, to pretend otherwise, she...she wasn’t wrong.

Throné wasn’t wrong. About any of it.

She wasn’t wrong about any of it.

From the very beginning, Crick had fascinated him: a newly anointed Sanctum Knight who had been honored to meet him, who idolized the Inquisition, who was bright-eyed and optimistic yet a little bit lost and adorably earnest. Clearly no one within the Sacred Guard had told him anything about Temenos prior to his deployment, but he had learned the truth soon enough. However, even after that initial awe of his had faded, after he had gotten to see just what kind of person the inquisitor was, he had still chosen to keep following him, had even drawn his sword against a Felvarg, placing himself in front of Temenos with the sole intention of keeping him safe.

Some might have turned tail and run, while those higher up the chain probably would have seen it as a perfect opportunity to be rid of him. Most of the Sanctum Knights he had met up to that point weren’t actually selfless and would not have risked their lives for him (though perhaps that was just his cynicism talking). However, that hadn’t been true for Crick. The vow he had made on their way up to the cathedral, he had taken it seriously, had fully intended on fighting the creature alone if he had to, hands trembling around his blade but his resolve firm and unyielding. The very picture of a dutiful knight.

He hadn’t turned away from the danger, and later, when Temenos had laid out the facts of the pontiff’s murder, he did not try to look away from the truth. In fact, he had even gone a step further and didn’t try to reveal that truth to Cubaryi, remaining silent as Temenos lied to her and provoked her, a solid presence at his back that had immediately moved closer once the deputy and her guard had gotten just a little too close.

Had she tried to draw her blade on him back then, he was certain that Crick would have intervened, because that was the type of man he was. Crick had questioned him, challenged him, disagreed with him, but he had also protected him, had followed him, had made the choice to trust him. Despite being naïve, he had shown that he could think for himself, that he wasn’t just another crow, and that honesty of his, that earnestness, that straightforward sense of morality, they were all incredibly endearing traits, in part because they were so much the opposite of how Temenos was, the kinds of things that he had lost while growing up, some by choice and some not.

In no time at all, he had grown fond of him, and then that fondness had gradually started turning into something else. Something he hadn’t fully realized because he hadn’t wanted to label it, to think about it, even though it had almost crossed his mind at several points.

But now Throné had labeled it for him, had given a word to that mess of emotions, describing everything he felt with one simple term. Even though it wasn’t actually simple at all. And there was no going back from that.

He couldn’t do what she had asked him to. Because it was true.

At the end of the day, it was true.

“...I can’t,” he admitted, the words quiet and defeated. He had little choice but to give in. There was no victory in her expression though, only something that he might call empathetic, perhaps even supportive as she relaxed her stance and took a step closer.

He wasn’t sure what kind of look was on his face right now, but thankfully (or not thankfully given the mood he found himself in), he didn’t have to wonder long.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so dejected before,” she told him. “Is it really that difficult for you to admit it?”

Yes, he wanted to say but held his tongue. What point was there in confessing to it? Even if he did, it wouldn’t change anything. After all, it wasn’t as if Crick actually—

“You look like you think it’s hopeless, but for the record, I don’t think that it is.”

...What?

“What?”

Gods, how many times was he going to be caught off guard today? While the shock did wear off rather quickly, irritation soon took its place as he attempted to glare at her, at what she was trying to imply, because surely this time she was joking. There was absolutely no way that Crick felt even remotely the same. Why would he? Temenos was a hard enough person just to get along with, to be friends with, let alone...

Let alone love.

There was no reason for him to feel that way. They were friends, and Crick was his knight. Even if unofficially. Everything the man did stemmed from those two things. He took his vows seriously, was dedicated to a fault. There was little point in trying to look further than that; he would only end up disappointed if he did.

Yet another reason why he would have preferred not to label it.

“Don’t look at me like that, Detective,” she told him. “I’m being serious. I know that he’s a knight and that he takes his job very seriously, but that can only account for so much.”

...He knew he was going to regret this, but...a part of him couldn’t help but ask.

“What do you mean, exactly?”

“I mean that knights typically don’t cook for their charges,” she said, and while she didn’t actually roll her eyes at him, it definitely felt like she wanted to. “Or help them with paperwork, or fret over how much sleep they’re getting, or take care of them after a night of excessive drinking. Those aren’t the actions of a ‘knight,’ Temenos. If you ask me, they’re more like the actions of a—”

“Don’t.”

He hadn’t intended for it to be so harsh, so final, but that was how it came out, how it sounded, and it was enough to stop what she had been about to say. Throné fell silent and simply looked at him, her expression unreadable. There was no anger, no sympathy, no irritation, only patience as she stood there and waited for him to continue, to hear him out instead of giving more of her opinion—an opinion that he did not want to hear the rest of. Because this time she was wrong. There were no hidden motivations when it came to Crick.

“As your Godsblade, it is my responsibility to look after you and to assist with whatever I can.”

Those were his words. In the end, everything came down to that.

There was nothing more to it than that.

His hands clenched where they were resting on his legs as he said, the words soft and seething, “I would ask that you not search for meaning where there is none. You are attempting to read too deeply into this. He has told me before that as my Godsblade, it is his responsibility to look after me and to assist in whatever way he can. That is simply the type of knight he is, whether his actions are orthodox or not. There is nothing more to it than that.”

The last thing he needed was false hope. Being told that Crick wanted to return to Flamechurch and work alongside him was enough. He could let that be enough. He didn’t need anything more.

He would not be selfish in this.

And besides, he still didn’t know why Crick wanted to stay with him in the first place. Honestly, why would he even want such a thing?

He should probably ask him about it later, after he gave himself some time to think. He needed to be certain that living in Flamechurch and joining the Inquisition was truly what Crick wanted, that he wasn’t trying to repay some sort of debt to Temenos that didn’t exist. Gratitude was not a good enough reason to leave the Sacred Guard, to leave his fellow knights and friends. Later, he would definitely ask—

All further thoughts were quickly cut short by the sudden feel of arms wrapping around him. One around his shoulders, the other carefully around his head. Apparently in his distraction, Throné had closed the distance between them, had come up to the side of him, embracing him in a way that he hadn’t experienced in a very, very long time. Not since he was a child, really. Because due to their current height difference, his head only came up to her stomach as she held him loosely and a little bit awkwardly.

Actually, make that very awkwardly.

But not necessarily unwelcome.

“Are...are you hugging me, Throné?”

“Trying to. I’m not very good at it. But you looked like you needed one.”

No, it wasn’t unwelcome at all.

“Honestly...” he sighed as some of the tension began to drain, as he relaxed into a place that was free of judgment, where he knew that he didn’t have to put on airs or be anything other than himself, no matter how hard that often was for him. He simply...wasn’t used to it—but in truth, there was probably no one who knew him better than this young woman, with her sharp tongue but kind heart, who had decided that he needed a hug.

...He figured that he could forgive her. Even though she had chosen to poke and prod at a lot of things he hadn’t wanted her to, he just couldn’t find it in himself to be upset about it. Instead, he found himself wondering what he would ever do without her.

“How is it,” he began, finally willing to admit defeat, “that you always manage to see through me?”

“Because I wouldn’t be a very good assistant if I couldn’t.”

A laugh escaped him as he closed his eyes, as he allowed himself and his thoughts to settle, to fall back where they were supposed to be, safe and compartmentalized and not about to overwhelm him, to render him utterly speechless once more. There was no going back, but...he could find a way to manage it. The labels didn’t really change anything. He could still carry on the way he had been, even with the new knowledge he had found. Nothing needed to change.

Everything would be fine.

Eventually, Throné released him and moved to once again stand in front of him, taking just a moment to look him over.

“Good,” she said with a nod. “It looks like you’re done panicking.”

He wasn’t going to deign that with a response. It’s not like trying to deny it would do him any good. Instead, he took a deep breath and attempted to get on with things. He did not want to end up circling around to the beginning of their discussion again. Throné’s original reason for coming to see him was because she had wanted to speak to him about something. He would much rather address that.

“You said there was something you wanted to tell me?”

“Oh, right.” He wondered if she had momentarily forgotten about that, in the midst of everything else she had said. “I was coming to tell you that I’m going with you tomorrow.”

“You...what?” That was rather unexpected. He had thought she would be remaining in Ku to help with the reconstruction. Why did she change her mind? “You intend to come to Conning Creek with us?”

“And Flamechurch. And Timberain.”

He simply blinked at her for a moment before asking, feeling somewhat bewildered, “You are going to attend the trial?”

“I am.”

“Why?”

“Because you might need someone to watch your back. Someone more subtle than a knight.”

...Fair enough.

“I suppose you aren’t wrong,” he replied, “although I do find it a bit insulting that you all seem to think I cannot look after myself.”

“It never hurts to have backup, Temenos. Even though this trial is necessary, and for a lot of them the punishment will be deserved, you’re going to be taking something away from a lot of people. Some of them may try to lash out.”

“I know.” He was well aware of that fact, and while he had certainly dealt with more than his fair share of angry heretics before, an angry knight was another matter entirely. Physically, he stood no chance, and if someone were to render him unable to cast spells, he could very well end up dead. Still, he wasn’t really a fan of this whole idea that he required protection. He very much wanted to be able to take care of himself.

That being said, the concern was somewhat touching. He would also be a fool to claim that it wasn’t warranted.

“If you know,” continued Throné, “then you should have no problem with me tagging along.”

“Do as you like,” he said, trying to sound flippant even though there was definitely a smile spreading across his face. “I certainly wouldn’t mind the company. After all, you really are an excellent assistant.”

“Even when I stick my nose in your business and tell you things you don’t want to hear?”

“Even then.”

“...Good. Are you going to tell him then, that he can join the Inquisition?”

“I suppose I should, shouldn’t I, since I was unable to do so earlier.”

“Will you be able to get the words out this time?”

There was amusement there, he was sure of it, but he couldn’t exactly fault her for that. He had certainly been in a right state when she interrupted him.

“Yes,” he replied with only a bit of indignance. “I should be able to manage. He simply caught me off guard is all. I...don’t believe that I have thanked you yet for what you did, for realizing that I needed time to think. As much as I hate to say it, I am not always good at those situations.”

“You don’t have to thank me. What else are friends for? If you still need some time to figure things out, I don’t mind sitting here with you.”

“Oh? Wouldn’t you rather be enjoying the festivities?”

“I’m not really one for crowds, remember? Although the food was pretty good.”

“It was, wasn’t it? Very well then. If you would like to stay, then I certainly wouldn’t mind the company.”

The sun was already starting to dip towards the horizon, marking the time as early evening. The celebration following the coronation, despite being much calmer and less extravagant than Timberain’s, was meant to last all day. People could come and go as they pleased, could eat their fill and then come back for more later. There was nothing that had to be done, nothing pressing to attend to, simply a day spent in community, in fellowship, where the lines of status were gone, wiped away by Hikari’s belief that all of his people, his friends, were equal.

A day spent in peace and tranquility and joy... And in the shadow of the castle, in the company of a dear friend, Temenos could spend as much time as he needed to sort out his thoughts, to figure out how he wanted to handle the unexpected hand that he had been dealt.

Before the day was over, he would have to talk to Crick, to assure him that the choice he had made was acceptable if that was truly what the knight wanted, if residing in Flamechurch and joining the Inquisition was the path he was set on (even if Temenos still didn’t understand why).

Fortunately, he had until nightfall to prepare himself for that inevitable conversation—and this time, hopefully, he would be able to find the right words to say. Or any words at all, really.

That wasn’t too much to ask for, right?

Only time would tell, he supposed.

By the time Temenos finally returned to his room, it was well past dinner and well past sunset as well, approaching the hour that many would be turning in for the night. He really hadn’t meant to stay gone for so long, especially since it wasn’t as if he had spent all of that time thinking. Some of it he had simply spent talking to Throné. And eating. The thief had graciously grabbed food for the both of them, and while he had asked her yet again if she was sure she didn’t want to return to the festivities, she had assured him that she’d had enough socializing for one day, that she had alleviated their companions’ concerns about both hers and the inquisitor’s disappearance, and that he could take all the time he needed to just relax and come to terms with things.

Even though he still didn’t really want to come to terms with it. However, running away was counterproductive, and just like the conclusion he had come to back on Roque Island, he couldn’t exactly avoid Crick. Nor would he want to. Which meant that he was just going to have to get over this and deal with it, both the truth that Throné had dropped on him and the fact that he had been wrong about what the knight’s plans would be once their journey was over.

That second part should not have been as much of a struggle as it was for him, and yet believing in it was still proving to be rather...difficult, for some reason. Probably because of the fact that he hadn’t even considered it to be an option. The problem with valuing the truth as much as he did was that, when something he believed to be true—beyond a shadow of a doubt—was suddenly proven false, it sometimes took him a while to reconcile it, to rearrange the facts as he knew them. After all, one could not arrive at the truth without careful observation and experimentation (gods, he was beginning to sound like Osvald), and Temenos had often been told that he was more observant than most, that he was good at taking into account multiple possible outcomes and analyzing facts, which was why it always surprised him when something he had deemed to be true turned out to be so utterly wrong.

Doubt was what he did, yes, but he really wasn’t in the habit of doubting himself. Most of the time, anyway.

Not right now, however. He didn’t often get nervous about things, but this definitely rivaled the way he had felt that day after drinking too much wine. Surpassed it, even.

Nevertheless, he needed to press onward. He needed to tell Crick what he hadn’t been able to get out before and then ask him if he was certain that this was what he wanted. He wondered if the knight understood just how laidback his days sometimes were, how peaceful the Crestlands could often be. If he was looking for a life of punishing evildoers and protecting the people from terrible threats, then this would not be the way to do it. He would surely be able to accomplish so much more if he stayed with the Sacred Guard and worked his way up to a senior rank, so...

So why leave? Why abandon that option? He had said it was because he believed he could make a difference by staying with Temenos, but how? What could have possibly made him think that? It’s not like Temenos was a particularly “good” person by any means, so why—

Stop.

He needed to stop thinking about it. He would just keep going in circles if he did. Asking Crick directly would be best. Drowning in speculation wasn’t going to do him any good.

Crick was an honest, sincere person, and so if Temenos asked him what his reasons were, he would surely receive an honest and sincere answer.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open.

Two blue eyes immediately shot up to him.

“There you are,” Crick said, getting up from the table. Apparently he had been busying himself by reading through the report that Temenos had written, the nosy little lamb. Not that there was anything in there that he didn’t already know, having helped considerably with that proposal for the court. Still, poking through his things was a bit rude, but seeing as how he had probably picked up that trait from him during their investigation, it would be a bit hypocritical to complain about it. “I was starting to wonder where you had gone off to. I searched the grand hall again after the sun set, but you weren’t there.”

Well, it would seem that Crick was not one of the people that Throné had spoken to while getting food. Hopefully his sudden disappearance didn’t cause too much concern. Ku was a safe kingdom now, so it wasn’t as if he could have gotten himself into too much trouble, but he did know that some of his friends were prone to worrying.

“Apologies,” he said, offering a placating smile. “I did not intend to remain away for so long. I would also...like to apologize for cutting our conversation short earlier.”

“You don’t have to apologize for that. Throné said it was important, right?”

“She did, and I suppose it was to an extent. She has decided to accompany us tomorrow.”

The knight’s brow furrowed a bit as he turned the words over, clearly confused as he asked, “To Conning Creek?”

“And to Flamechurch, as well as the trial.”

Clearly he thought the choice to be an odd one as he asked, “She...wants to attend the trial?” And while Temenos had certainly thought so as well before his dear assistant had explained herself (he still wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about her reasoning though), in hindsight, it did make a lot of sense. That was just the type of person she was, always accompanying him on his more dangerous ventures, so of course she would decide to shadow him this time as well to ensure nothing happened.

She really was an excellent assistant, not to mention a loyal friend.

(Even though he still wasn’t a fan of needing protection).

“Indeed, although ‘want’ is perhaps too strong of a word. She is primarily coming along as another set of eyes to ensure there is no foul play amongst the accused. Our dear thief is an expert at concealing herself and will be able to keep an eye on those who may resort to less civil means to avoid punishment.”

“I still fail to see how such a thing would be rational...”

“Because as I told you before, little lamb, those who are desperate are often not rational. It would be much better to prepare for such an eventuality, rather than be caught off guard by it.”

The furrow in Crick’s brow deepened as he thought it over, but Temenos quickly found himself reminded of his own predicament by what he’d said. He had certainly failed in that regard, being caught off guard, having not prepared himself properly for every eventuality by instead choosing to completely write off the outcome he had wanted, the idea of Crick actually staying with him.

That needed to be addressed. He needed to tell Crick that what he wanted was alright, that it could be done, and then ask him why exactly he would want such a thing in the first place. Why choose this when there were so many other paths available to him? Why pledge his sword to someone who, until very recently—until he had once again had the knight’s blood on his hands—hadn’t truly appreciated what such a vow meant?

He didn’t understand, but he wanted to. He wanted answers. He also wanted to make sure that this was truly what the knight wanted, that he understood the reality of such a thing rather than the ideal he had built up in his head.

Temenos had already gotten his hopes up about this, which was a dangerous thing indeed. He could not risk allowing himself to have any further expectations just in case Crick were to change his mind.

Taking a breath to steady himself, he decided to get it over with.

“Crick.”

His Godsblade looked up at him, the confusion from before fading.

“Yes?”

“About what you said earlier...” the cleric began, doing his best to sound casual. To sound like himself. “If it is truly your wish to join the Inquisition once our journey is over, then of course you would be welcome to do so. It should be no trouble at all for me to make the arrangements.”

The knight shifted his weight, a touch of concern crossing his face as he carefully asked, “And you would be okay with that?”

“Of course. If I gave you a different impression, I apologize.” He could maybe understand how his inability to reply earlier might’ve resulted in that misunderstanding. “You simply caught me off guard is all. I...suppose I was just having a difficult time understanding why you would want such a thing, why you would choose the Inquisition over the Sacred Guard. I hope you realize that most investigations are not nearly as exciting as this one has been.”

“I don’t care about that,” Crick assured him, that earnest determination from earlier returning. “That isn’t why I became a knight, and it is not why I want to join the Inquisition.”

“I know.” Because he did. “You were inspired to do so by...by Roi, were you not?”

“Yes.” Gods, his little lamb really was such an open book, his expression softening a bit because he had clearly heard that hesitation and probably knew that Roi was still a difficult topic for him despite the progress he’d made. “He gave me something to believe in and inspired me to become someone more than I was, than what my parents wanted me to be. I joined the Order of the Sacred Flame so that I could hopefully follow in his footsteps someday, to be the kind of person who can make a difference in people’s lives. That’s what I am aiming for, and I know that I can accomplish it at your side.”

The inquisitor couldn’t help but scoff at that, at the comparison, because...

“I am nothing like my predecessor, Crick.”

Roi had been honest and sincere and full of faith, full of belief in people, in the idea of making the world brighter, striving towards a better future. He had been the very epitome of a shepherd to his flock, compassionate and empathetic, always reaching out and lending an ear to anyone who needed it, seeing the best in others, wanting to do whatever he could to guide them. But he had also been an excellent inquisitor, observant and trustworthy and determined, weeding out heretics but never jumping to conclusions, always giving those accused the time to explain as he looked for the truth.

Temenos might be a good “inquisitor,” but he was often times a halfhearted cleric. He would say the words that were necessary but didn’t always mean them. He had been getting better at it, after traveling for so long with so many kindhearted people, after realizing that there was perhaps more truth to the scripture and to the Flame than he had thought, but he would never be the type of cleric that Roi had been, capable of saving people with his words and kindness alone.

...If Roi hadn’t disappeared, Temenos wouldn’t even have become the inquisitor, wouldn’t be standing here now. Roi probably would’ve been blessed by Aelfric instead—and he would have more than deserved it too—because Temenos was...he wasn’t really...

At the end of the day, he wasn’t—

“I disagree.”

Surprised, the cleric looked up from where his gaze had drifted to the floor, only to find his little lamb looking back at him with such sincerity and resolve that it made something within him hurt.

(His heart, most likely).

Eager to prove his point and yet in a tone that implied he understood more than Temenos had thought, than the inquisitor had wanted him to, he said, “You also reached out to me, Temenos. You have been guiding me since the day we met. I might not have appreciated it at the time, but...I’m grateful to you. After everything that has happened to me since that day at the cathedral, I now know where I wish to place my faith. In you.”

“You shouldn’t.” What a terrible mistake, to entrust him with such a thing. Something so precious. “I have done nothing to deserve it. My actions are what almost got you killed.”

“That wasn’t your fault—I have told you that before. I made the choice to investigate on my own that night, and I won’t have you trying to take the blame for it. Temenos, you...you’re the one who saved me, who healed me. And not only that, you taught me how to think for myself, that blind faith isn’t truly faith, and that I shouldn’t allow preconceptions to affect my judgment, that I need to look at things as they are to arrive at the truth. I am grateful to you, for the trust you chose to place in me, for allowing me to come with you on this journey. I’ve enjoyed working with you, and I wish to keep working with you, and if you are officially my charge, then I can protect you without having to worry about anyone trying to order me away. So long as you would have me as your Godsblade, that is what I wish to be.”

...Oh, honestly.

Honestly, this noble, selfless, foolish young knight...

Half of him wanted to smile while the other half wanted to run. But running wasn’t an option. It never had been. And he would be lying if he said that the words hadn’t touched him, hadn’t made him feel warm and pleased even while still believing that he hadn’t lived up to them yet, that Crick was painting him in a light that was a little bit tinted, a little bit unrealistic, but it was obvious that he had meant every word, that he truly did want to stay.

It was not a decision that had been made lightly.

“You are certain?” Temenos asked, not without the slightest bit of humor as that warmth continued to spread, flooding his chest. “Even if some of my duties as inquisitor involve things as mundane as walking the streets of Flamechurch and performing paper plays for children?”

“Yes.” No hesitation, no uncertainty—just like before—the same answer he had already received so many times. And then because this man did not know when to stop, because he clearly wanted him to understand, to accept his response, he said with absolute conviction, without a shred of doubt, “I would choose to stand at your side a thousand times over, Temenos. There is truly nowhere else I would rather be.”

...It wasn’t fair.

It really just wasn’t fair.

He knew that he couldn’t read into it—Temenos knew better than to read into it, but...under different circumstances, those words would...

Crick probably didn’t realize it, because why would he? Obviously he wasn’t thinking about things in that way, didn’t think about Temenos in that way. He had no reason to, after all. And that was fine. It was fine. Crick had already given him so much, more than he had ever thought he’d have, someone who actually intended to stay, who wanted to walk alongside him, who trusted him and could be trusted in turn. He truly was happy not to be alone, to be able to have that future he had wanted. Even if he couldn’t have everything he might want.

(He was more than used to that by now).

In some ways, he wanted to curse Throné—to curse her attentiveness, her meddling, her attempts to help him, throwing everything out there that he had been both consciously and subconsciously trying to ignore. He might have preferred to remain ignorant, because there was no going back now, and with every word that his dear knight had said—in that honest, heartfelt tone—the truth had started sinking into him all the more. Until he could no longer deny it.

...He loved him.

Temenos loved him.

Somewhere along the way, against so many odds—despite believing he wasn’t even capable of such a thing, he…he had fallen in love. Unintentionally and irrevocably.

In the end, Throné had been right.

He was in love with Crick.

Chapter Text

Partings, even temporary ones, were often not easy, at least when it came to the people that one actually cared about. Some partings were honestly welcome (he could definitely name quite a few), but certainly not this one, even though it was entirely necessary. All of them had known that this moment would be coming, having solidified their plans days ago—with, of course, the exception of Throné, who had made a rather sudden decision to leave Ku and accompany him on his journey to Conning Creek, Flamechurch, and then Timberain.

Perhaps that was why Agnea was hugging the thief rather tightly, much to Temenos’s amusement.

“Y’all better promise to come back safe, alright?” the dancer told them, sounding quite insistent. “I won’t accept it if you don’t!”

“We already did, remember?” Throné replied, patting her back gently in what she probably hoped was a reassuring manner while clearly fighting back a fond smile. The roll of her eyes was fond as well.

The nine of them were currently standing near Ku’s front gate, which had yet to be repaired after Kazan’s sandstorm destroyed it, splintering the wood and casting it across the sands. When given a list of everything that needed to be fixed, Hikari had chosen to prioritize the city itself, wanting to restore all of the buildings and shops, the things that his people needed, viewing the gate and the watchtowers as a low priority. After all, the odds of someone trying to attack Ku at the moment were rather slim, especially with Hikari now firmly on its throne. And even if someone did try, they were unlikely to succeed given the number of people who were willing to fight for the kingdom, who would do everything in their power to keep it safe.

There was nothing to worry about. The reconstruction would continue apace, even with half of their party leaving.

“You have everything you need?” asked Castti. “You’re welcome to use any of the herbs I left on the ship. There should be plenty of plum and grape leaf, and I had saved up quite a lot of pomegranate as well.”

“I am certain we shall be fine,” Temenos told her. “This is meant to be a peaceful trip, with the exception of a few monsters here and there. The supplies we already have should suffice. That being said, however, if the need were to arise, I will be sure to make use of them.”

He was no apothecary, but he did know how to make a few basic concoctions. There had been quite a few nights during their journey where he had chosen to spend his free time learning from his fellow travelers, and Castti had been more than willing to teach him about common medicine, just as he had taught her more about healing magic. In truth, all of them had learned a great deal from each other, because how could they not after spending almost an entire year traveling the world together, seeing everything Solistia had to offer? And they weren’t done yet either. This really was just a temporary parting. In about a month or so, they would be back together again.

That was the plan, anyway; a plan they had come up with just a few nights ago during dinner (they had a tendency to make a lot of their plans during meals, now that he thought about it. Apparently food was good at facilitating conversation).

All in all, it was a fairly simple plan.

The trial in Timberain was set to take place in a little less than four weeks’ time and would probably last for several days thereafter. The timeframe was going to depend a lot on how cooperative everyone was. Thankfully, the length of the trial itself mattered little, because it wasn’t as if they had anything pressing to take care of after. All of their immediate goals had been achieved; no more racing across the continent in order to get somewhere on time, having to carefully plan and stare at a map and occasionally come up with unorthodox methods in order to make sure that no one’s objectives got overlooked. They could simply take their time from now on, which was definitely a welcome change, even if the lack of direction might make things difficult when it came to tracking down the leader of the Moonshade Order and whoever else was hiding in the shadows. Hopefully Osvald would be able to find some sort of lead in Harvey’s laboratory. Otherwise, they would simply have to wander and retrace their steps and hope for a breakthrough.

But before that, there was the matter of meeting up again. Not an easy feat given their destinations. With four of them remaining in Ku, two of them heading for Montwise, and three of them going to Timberain, finding a good spot to reconvene had proven difficult. They had discussed it quite a bit. While they had all been fine with eventually meeting back up in Ku, seeing as how Hikari was now the king and couldn’t exactly go gallivanting across the continent whenever he wanted, he had told them not to worry about it, claiming that the city would be fine without him once he finished setting up his council and that he had no intention of being left behind for the remainder of their journey. He had made it very clear, as well as insisting that he didn’t have an issue with meeting up somewhere closer to either Montwise or Timberain, whichever location they decided upon—and, seeing as how Osvald and Partitio weren’t actually planning to stay in Montwise, they merely wished to visit Regulus and explore the lab, there had been little point in meeting up on the eastern continent at all, so choosing a place closer to Timberain had made the most sense.

Agnea was the one who ultimately made the definitive suggestion.

“You know, my village’s festival usually takes place this time of year. I really wanted to invite you all to the next one, but I wasn’t sure if we’d still be busy when the season came around. The timing might be a little off, but it’s not like we have it on the same day every year, so I bet if I ask them all to wait so that my friends can enjoy it too, everyone in the village will say yes. There’s always a lot of tasty food and music and performances, plus my sister Pala makes the best raspberries pies—I just know you’ll love them! So...maybe we could all meet back up in Cropdale?”

At the mention of food, Ochette was immediately on board, and any mention of raspberries was always enough to put a look of longing on Throné’s face (a look that was quite endearing in his personal opinion, and he was pretty sure that the rest of them thought so as well), which meant that in the end, all of them had agreed, and so Cropdale was to be their next destination once their current objectives were complete. Not a bad choice at all, really. Temenos certainly wasn’t complaining, seeing as how he was also looking forward to the festival given how much Agnea had spoken about it during their journey. It would definitely be a nice reprieve after what was sure to be a very complicated and headache-inducing trial. He prayed the proceedings wouldn’t drag on for too long. With any luck, some of the heavy lifting had already been taken care of, assuming that Ort was able to find a reliable senior officer. If most of Kaldena’s followers had been identified and contained, that would certainly make things a lot easier.

He very much wanted the trial to go smoothly.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take some more jerky with you?” asked Ochette. “I’ve still got tons left, and it’s a pretty long walk through the desert.”

“You have given us more than enough,” Temenos assured her, because she did. She had shoved quite a lot at the five of them, insisting they would need it since there would be no one around to hunt for them, and how could they possibly survive if they didn’t get enough meat to eat? They might all just starve!

He had found the dramatics quite amusing. Normally it was Castti who fretted over such things, but apparently it mattered a great deal to Ochette as well.

They would find a way to manage. The trek to Conning Creek wasn’t too long, all things considered. Their provisions would surely last them until they reached the seaside town.

“I’m sure we’ll be able to handle the food situation ourselves,” said Partitio with a smile. “So don’t you worry ‘bout it, alright? The five o’ us’ll be just fine. You all make sure not to work too hard out in the sun, ya hear, an’ I’ll do my best to find some more volunteers for ya along the way. Bet I can round up at least a few people who’d be willin’ to come help this place out.”

“You needn’t go out of your way,” Hikari assured him. “I know you need to recruit more people for your company as well.”

“I can do both. Wouldn’t be a very good merchant if I couldn’t multitask, after all.”

True enough. Their ambitious merchant was quite good at that, always keeping all of his goals at the forefront of his mind, goals that often involved helping people. He had already put in a good deal of work negotiating for materials to rebuild the city, and he was sure to do a good deal more of it while out on the road. A good-natured opportunist, if such a thing were to exist: that was their Partitio. Ku would have all the extra hands and resources it could possibly need with him on the job.

Hopefully the next time they visited the kingdom, there would not be a single broken window or fractured beam or piece of ruble in sight. He was very much looking forward to seeing it in all its rebuilt glory, perhaps once their journey was officially over. He certainly wouldn’t mind taking a bit of a vacation after what was easily the longest investigation he had ever embarked on.

But that was a thought for later. Much, much later. There were still plenty of loose ends to tie up, after all. Their little group had more than enough to keep them busy for the foreseeable future (even though he did rather like the idea of relaxing).

Eventually, Agnea released Throné and moved back to where Castti, Hikari, and Ochette were standing, the four of them smiling despite the situation. Probably because they knew this wasn’t goodbye. It was definitely a little sad to part ways, but they would all be seeing each other again soon, and hopefully they would all have good news to share with one another as they enjoyed the festival in Cropdale.

He prayed that would be the case. He very much wanted everything to go well.

With just a few more well wishes, followed by a tearful (for some of them) farewell, their two groups parted ways, ready to do what needed to be done.

Rebuilding an entire city, searching a mad scholar’s research lab, putting an entire organization on trial, the list went on and on...

Perhaps someday it would come to an end.

Regardless, they certainly had their work cut out for them.

Despite being stationed in the Harborlands on his second assignment as a knight, Crick had never actually been to Conning Creek before. He had primarily stayed in the area surrounding Canalbrine, assisting travelers and patrolling the streets in order to provide a bit of extra protection, seeing as how a lot of people tended to pass through the seaside town due to it being the primary point of passage to and from the western continent. By comparison, Conning Creek was significantly quieter, less bustling, which made sense given that it didn’t have a harbor. Instead, it was primarily a fishing town, renowned for its seafood. There were merchant stalls everywhere, selling freshly caught fish, clams, octopus, crabs, pretty much everything the sea had to offer. It was a rather charming place, actually. Peaceful and serene.

He could definitely see why Osvald had chosen to live there. He wondered if the scholar would someday choose to do so again. It was where his daughter was currently residing, after all—a daughter that he was apparently still hesitant to see.

Crick knew a little of the story, partly because Osvald’s arrest and the pursuing trial had been covered rather extensively, and some of the knights he had been training with at the time had enjoyed discussing those sorts of events, always keeping their ears open for news and gossip. Most of his information regarding it, however, had come from the travelers, because of course they were the only ones who knew the full story, seeing as how a great deal of lies had been told in order to cover up the truth.

Osvald’s wife and daughter didn’t die in the fire. Instead, Harvey—a professor from Montwise—had kidnapped them, along with stealing the scholar’s research, because Rita and Elena carried the blood of the Lumina family, the Lineage of Light, and he had believed that using it in his experiments would lead him to the One True Magic. Instead, it had led him to the Shadow, to Vide, and ultimately to his death. But thankfully, even after being stabbed by the power-hungry madman, Elena had managed to survive. She had been weak and feverish, but Castti had tended to her the entire way back to Conning Creek, where Osvald had made the decision to leave her in the care of his assistant, Lady Clarissa. He had wanted to give her time to recover, not just physically but mentally, seeing as how her memory had been tampered with—and now, almost three months later, it was time to see how she was doing, if she had managed to remember anything more.

But Osvald was hesitating. Crick hadn’t really thought he would be the type to, given how direct he often was, how little he cared for indecisiveness, but everyone had things they were apprehensive about, and for the scholar, this was apparently it: coming face to face with the daughter he had almost lost, a daughter that he clearly loved more than anything in the world.

And the reason for his apprehension, according to his companions? Because he felt like he had failed her in some way, even though he hadn’t—even though he had done everything he could to get her back, putting his own life on the line to save her from Harvey. He had left her with Clarissa because she had needed to finish healing, because his life was dangerous right now and he hadn’t wanted to involve her in it. He had wanted to protect her. And yet despite all of that, he still felt inadequate as her father, which was why instead of going into the house and seeing Elena for himself, Osvald had summoned Clarissa outside in order to speak with her about the situation.

Lady Clarissa somehow managed to look both kind and strict in equal measure as she stood before the scholar.

“How is she?” Osvald asked, in a soft tone that was clearly reserved for family.

“Better,” his assistant replied. “She has regained all of that bright energy she used to be known for, to the point where she insists on helping the housekeeper with the chores. She is keeping up with her studies as well, and the more she learns, the more she remembers. Almost all of her memories have returned to her now, and there is no end to the questions she asks about you.”

“I see...” The scholar looked both pleased and sad at the same time, clearly happy to hear that his daughter was doing well but probably still plagued by that doubt, by the belief that he shouldn’t go to her, not yet. It didn’t make much sense to Crick. What harm was there in simply seeing her, in letting her know that her father was alright? Surely Osvald wanted to see her too, and he was wrong about being inadequate, so...

So then why not talk to her?

Lady Clarissa apparently felt the same.

“Please, Osvald, it’s been months,” she said, beseeching the man to reconsider his stance on this. “Will you not see her now, at least to let her know you’re alright, to reassure her that one day you will come home?”

“I can’t yet. There are still matters that need to be put to rest. I’ve yet to track down Harvey’s accomplices. I cannot face her until everything is settled.”

They were logical enough reasons he supposed, but it was Throné who decided to give voice to what was probably the real one.

“You’re worried that seeing her now will make it that much harder to leave.”

The disgruntled look that crossed Osvald’s face was quite telling, as was his lack of denial to what the thief had said. She really was good at that, at understanding her companions, picking up on the things they weren’t willing to say. She was never cruel about it though, and it was obvious that Osvald wasn’t actually upset with her bluntness. Truth be told, that was at least a reason that Crick could understand, because of course seeing his daughter and spending time with her would make the separation that much harder for the both of them, especially since their group didn’t plan on sticking around too long. They had only stopped in Conning Creek to check in and pick up some supplies. They would be setting out in the morning for Canalbrine. That was just how things went when there were schedules to keep.

The scholar cleared his throat (if Crick didn’t know any better, he would say that Osvald actually seemed a little embarrassed) before reaching towards the bag he was carrying.

“I do have something for her though,” he told Clarissa, the words only a little hesitant as he tried to move on from what Throné had revealed, rifling through his things before eventually pulling out a book. “I found this in Wellgrove. It’s a magic compendium, one designed for those who are just beginning their magical studies. I used to own a copy, back when I was a student. I thought she might like to have it.”

His assistant took the book with a smile, soft and fond as she ran her hand over the cover.

“I’m sure she’ll love it, Osvald,” she assured him. “Elena has quite the inquisitive mind and has even taken an interest in my own studies. I am certain she will make a wonderful scholar someday. I hope you don’t mind if I at least tell her that this book is a gift from her father?”

“...Do as you like.”

Clarissa hid a quiet laugh behind her hand, clearly amused, but before she could say anything else on the matter, the sound of hurried footsteps and concerned whispers quickly drew everyone’s attention. Coming down the street were several guards, the citizens all getting out of their way, speaking in hushed tones as the group moved through the square and towards the beach. A worried look immediately crossed Clarissa’s face as she turned to peer past the few trees near the side of her house, and while it was difficult to see exactly what was going on, there did seem to be some sort of commotion at the northern end of town.

“Goodness,” she sighed. “I wonder what it could be this time. There have been quite a few odd happenings as of late.”

“Oh?” questioned Temenos, immediately seeming interested (he really couldn’t resist a potential mystery, could he?). “What sort of ‘odd happenings?’”

“Well, a few weeks ago, the man who owns the vineyard just outside of town said he saw a strange monster walking along the shore. It was especially dark that night, and he was telling everyone that it looked like a suit of armor made from shadows. We’ve also had some suspicious visitors within the last few days, dressed in dark cloaks despite how warm it’s been, and when they went to the beach one night, they didn’t return. I have no idea what happened to them, nor does anyone else. All of the fishing boats here are small, and so it’s not as if they could have sailed one too far from the dock. Then there was that poor woman I directed towards the inn. I have no idea where she was from—her clothing was rather unusual for this area—but she had obviously been traveling for a long time on her own. I wonder if she was able to find what she was looking for...”

“Hmm...”

The inquisitor turned towards the beach, just barely visible from where they stood, his brow furrowing. Some of what Clarissa had said was perhaps a bit worrying (a suspicious monster, suspicious people), and now there was clearly some sort of new incident occurring within the town. One that had drawn the attention of the guards.

Throné stepped closer and nudged the cleric gently in the side before asking, “Do you want to check it out?”

Temenos looked down at her, the expression on his face a troubled one.

“I do, yes,” he confirmed. “However, I...have a bad feeling about this.”

“In your gut?”

“You could say that...”

For some reason, Crick found those dark eyes shooting over to him, very briefly, before the thief returned her gaze to the inquisitor.

“Well, so far it’s proven to be accurate, even more so than my own.”

“Yes, well, this time I pray it’s wrong though.”

“There’s only one way to find out. Come on.”

In the end, Crick chose to go with Throné and Temenos while Osvald and Partitio remained behind with Clarissa, both to ask her a few more questions and to run a couple of errands in the market, seeing as how they were meant to be buying supplies in addition to checking up on Elena. Osvald had also mentioned wanting to return to his study to collect a few things from it which he had thought might prove useful. Harvey may have taken his research on the One True Magic, but most of his other research had been left untouched, protected for the past several years by his assistant. A scholar as proficient as Osvald was probably had an incredible collection of books and journals, and with all the new knowledge he had gained on his journey, perhaps there was something in one of them that he had overlooked before but that would hold a much different meaning now.

One could hope, anyway.

And so, Crick followed the thief and the cleric down to the beach where there was indeed a large crowd by the shore, although the townspeople were all being held back by the guards they had seen rushing towards the area earlier. It was difficult to see what exactly was going on, what type of incident it was, but eventually the people’s murmurings amongst each other began to paint a rather horrifying picture.

“They say it was murder. Just awful...”

“The poor girl. I think I saw her in town a few days ago.”

“It’s getting so much harder to travel alone. Why wasn’t anyone with her?”

“Who would do something like this, and so close to town?”

“How dreadful...”

One of the guards moved forward, attempting to disperse the onlookers.

“Out of the way!” he shouted as he moved up the stairs, forcing them all off to one side. “This area is closed off! We’ll be the ones investigating the incident!”

Fortunately, thanks to the guard’s actions, the three of them were able to get a little closer, to finally see around the people who had been blocking the way—and sure enough, there, lying upon the beach, was a woman. One who, according to the local gossip anyway, had been murdered. It looked like she had washed up on the shore, or perhaps someone had pulled her from the water, hoping to save her from drowning only to realize that it was too late. There wasn’t much that he could tell from a distance, especially since he didn’t have Temenos’s level of observation skills, but she looked...young, with long golden hair that almost seemed to reflect the light of the sun, a stark contrast to the dark robes she wore.

It was a rather...odd style of clothing, a style that he had never seen before. Black robes, embroidered with white, similar to the way that most cleric’s robes were embroidered yet not quite the same. They certainly didn’t look easy to travel in, that was for sure, and yet she had apparently been traveling according to the townspeople. Was she perhaps the person that Clarissa had mentioned, or was she—

A gasp from next to him cut his musing short, and he looked over to see both Temenos and Throné staring at the scene before them with wide, shocked eyes.

“That’s...” Temenos began, only to trail off, looking almost horrified at the sight. It was not a reaction that he had seen from the inquisitor often, and it led him to the conclusion that, whoever this woman was—whoever she had once been—she was familiar.

To Temenos and Throné, at least, she was familiar. They had known her. It was the thief who gave Crick her name.

“Alpates...”

Alpates.

How strange... An unusual name to be sure, but...he kind of felt like he had heard it before.

After that, the guards quickly began ushering everyone away rather forcefully, and while Crick could understand their desire to not have a bunch of nosy onlookers present during an investigation, part of him wondered if they were perhaps trying to cover something up. That suspicion was definitely Temenos’s doing. Before, he would have trusted the local authorities to do right and properly handle the situation—a murder that had seemingly occurred in or close by their town—but now, he couldn’t help but question it, to wonder if their haste and insistence meant that they were somehow involved. Unfortunately, there was no way to know for sure, and while it was obvious that Temenos and Throné wanted to stay, the three of them retreated from the beach, at least for the time being, and returned to the square.

Both the thief and cleric looked troubled, as well as melancholic, as they began discussing the situation.

“That was Alpates, without a doubt,” Temenos sighed as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against a nearby streetlamp, his brow furrowing once more.

“Yes,” Throné agreed, hanging her head, both her words and her tone expressing just how upset by this she was. “And after she finally flew from her cage... Who would do such a thing? Why would someone kill Alpates?”

The inquisitor gave a thoughtful hum but didn’t say anything more, and while he was clearly trying to consider the angle, to figure out why Alpates might have been killed, it didn’t look like he was in too deep of thought that he wouldn’t be able to hear if someone spoke to him. And so Crick figured that he might as well ask.

“Was she a friend of yours?”

Temenos looked up at him and said, still looking quite troubled, “Not a ‘friend,’ exactly. More so an acquaintance. We only met her once, very briefly, at the cathedral. We had been making a stop in Flamechurch just to pick up a few things before continuing on our way, but Throné remembered hearing rumors about a ‘treasure’ hidden in a cathedral—a treasure called ‘Alpates.’ Out of curiosity, I decided to help her investigate, but instead of a treasure, Alpates turned out to be a young woman. The pontiff had apparently been looking after her, keeping her hidden from everyone, even me. She had been living there her whole life, but upon meeting us, she decided to leave. She...said quite a few things that were odd, but...looking back, I believe that encounter was actually far more significant than either of us gave it credit for.”

“What do you mean? What sort of things did she say?”

Temenos and Throné exchanged a look before the inquisitor told him, “I mentioned it very briefly back on Toto’haha, but...she said that she could see a flame burning within us. And then immediately after that, she mentioned something about the time having come to fulfill her mission. Knowing what we do now, I can’t help but wonder if she...somehow knew what was going on, if she was able to tell that we were ‘blessed’ because...the flames she saw in us were blue, perhaps. Just like the one in Ochette.”

He breathed an even deeper sigh, almost slumping against the lamppost behind him, actually allowing some of his frustration to show.

“How aggravating... I wish we had known more about what was going on at the time, or that I would have thought to ask her a few more questions before she departed. I had my doubts about allowing her to leave on her own, seeing as how she had never so much as set foot outside the cathedral before, and it would seem that concern was more than warranted given the result.”

“She said that she needed to return to her clan,” Throné added. “It had to do with her mission, and before she left, she...”

The thief reached for a hidden pouch in her dress and pulled out what appeared to be some sort of broken object, the edges sharp and jagged. Upon closer inspection, it seemed to be half of a decorative mirror. A very cloudy mirror.

“She gave me this. I’ve been holding on to it, even though I have no idea what it’s for. I don’t see how it could be of any use, but...maybe it’s connected to her mission in some way. Maybe we’re connected to her mission too.”

“It’s possible,” Temenos agreed. “In any case, we’ll need more clues if we are to solve this. We should return to the scene of the crime.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Detective, but I honestly doubt those guards will cooperate.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing I have no intention of asking them to.”

...It really shouldn’t surprise him at this point. After spending so much time with Temenos, Crick was more than familiar with his methods, many of which were underhanded and in certain cases illegal. The inquisitor very much seemed to believe that it was easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, and since his intuition was rarely ever wrong, he pretty much never had to ask for the former at all. That being said, however, Crick wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about this. While he would go along with it, because there really was no arguing with Temenos, the guards were kind of just doing their jobs. There was no proof that they had anything to do with the murder, and yet here they were being treated as if they were attempting to cover something up. That was just the way these things went though.

Doubt was what Temenos did, after all.

Upon returning to the beach, they found that both the curious onlookers and most of the guards were actually gone. As was Alpates. However, it was immediately obvious where her corpse had been taken. Soldiers did not often guard rickety sheds.

Throné quickly slipped into the shadows to investigate the area.

“It looks like there’s only one guard dog on duty,” she said after returning from her reconnaissance. “I couldn’t hear anyone in the shed.”

“They likely aren’t too far off though,” Temenos replied, looking thoughtful. “Hmm, what to do? It would be quite unfortunate were he to howl, so... Would you ensure that our hound neither bites nor barks, Throné?”

The look she gave him was decidedly unimpressed as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Are you asking me to do the dirty work?”

“My specialty is making dogs speak, so...”

“Tch... It’s not easy working with detectives.”

There was amusement on the inquisitor’s face, as if those words were some sort of inside joke, which did seem to be the case as there was definitely humor in Throné’s expression as well, despite her complaints, implying that she wasn’t actually against doing this, that she would get the job done and do it cleanly without issue.

As she disappeared once again, hiding within the shadows cast by the building, Crick couldn’t help but comment on the situation. Because this was definitely familiar.

“Why is it always breaking and entering with you?” he asked, only a little exasperated. This was the third time now, and he really was starting to get used to it all things considered, even if he didn’t want to. At least he wasn’t the one being asked to do it this time.

“Because it is faster and more likely to get me results,” the cleric explained, and in a manner that implied he saw nothing wrong with this at all. “Sometimes the ends do justify the means, especially when seeking official permission to investigate will simply earn me a ‘no’. I learned a long time ago that if I want to accomplish something, I am better off seeking a method to do so myself, even if some of those methods aren’t exactly...orthodox, in the eyes of most.”

They weren’t really orthodox at all, he wanted to say, but he held his tongue, because at the end of the day, it wasn’t as if Temenos was wrong about what he’d said. Had they sought permission back in Canalbrine like Crick had told him they needed to, nothing would have been accomplished, because the Sacred Guard would not have given him permission. He would have been barred from investigating, which would have meant no finding Lucian, no piecing together what had happened, no realizing who Vados’s next target was, and no saving Hermes from assassination. Breaking the rules had resulted in a life being saved and a murderer being arrested. Looking back, he was immensely grateful that he had chosen to trust Temenos in that moment and do as the inquisitor had asked. Hopefully they would be led to the truth this time as well.

Soon enough, the guard standing at the door was rendered unconscious by a swift strike to the back of his neck and then dragged away out of sight so as not to cause a commotion. It certainly wouldn’t do for someone to notice him and then rush into the shed to see what had happened. Even so, they would need to make this quick. There was no telling when the other guards might come back.

The three of them walked into the shed, and there, lying on a pile of straw mats, was Alpates.

...It was unsettling. He wasn’t sure if he would ever get used to the sight, to seeing a person lying so still and lifeless. A part of him didn’t want to though. He didn’t want it to become commonplace. He had already seen more than enough, in his opinion.

He wondered how Temenos and Throné could remain so clam upon seeing the body of someone they had known, however brief the encounter had been. Then he remembered that both of them had witnessed this sort of thing several times, that they had even seen far worse, and that both of them were also experts at acting unaffected and approaching things from a more detached, logical point of view.

It probably wasn’t easy for them, no matter how they made it appear.

Throné moved forward, a sad sigh of “Alpates...” escaping her as she knelt down and began to examine the young woman for clues, for anything that seemed abnormal. She immediately noticed something a little strange, something that Crick was pretty sure he would have missed.

“Her clothes are stitched in an odd place,” she said, pulling lightly at the fabric, her deft fingers, along with her dagger, making quick work of the abnormal stitching. What she found was a hidden compartment of sorts, expertly disguised, and within that fabric, she pulled out a small scrap of paper. Temenos quickly knelt down next to her as she unfolded it.

“It says ‘the Cavern of the Moon and Sun,’” he read aloud. “It appears to be a map to a cave nearby.”

“There’s more written here,” said Throné as she flipped the paper over. “Where day meets night?”

“I would guess that it’s some sort of code... There must be something there.”

The inquisitor got to his feet and moved around the body, his eyes evaluating, looking for any additional clues, putting together the potential truth of what happened in his mind, and Crick watched as his expression quickly darkened.

“Her hands and feet were bound, but her mouth was left unfettered,” he said, drawing attention to the marks on her wrists and ankles where a rope had clearly been tied too tightly, the shape of it visible and raw against her skin.

Those details were extremely telling. Her death had not been long ago.

This had happened recently.

“She was likely interrogated, but was killed when she gave no answers...” There was definitely anger there, at the injustice of what had been done, the cruelty of it all. This young woman had probably done no wrong, had in fact been under the protection of the church for several years—of the pontiff, specifically—and after leaving for the first time in her life, after going out into the world to fulfil a mission, this was the fate that befell her.

It wasn’t fair.

But most things in the world often weren’t. He knew that quite well. Even though he wished for it to be different. Hopefully, someday, he could help make it different, so that this kind of thing wouldn’t happen as often or at all, so that good people wouldn’t have to suffer.

An idealistic dream to be sure, but it was his dream nonetheless.