In the corner of Stonethorn Cave, Vance sat with his back against a wall. The operation had ended, and it seemed to have been a success. But the word success has varying meanings and delicate undertones. What one person considers a success is for the other a terrible loss. And Vance was still not sure what the lunar elf had done to him. His Mental Eye was fixed on his feet, but he could no longer recognize them. He could only see an alien mass of cells and tissues. They were no longer human, to say the least. A blunt observer would’ve called them bestial or monstrous, and even the most kind-hearted flatterer would’ve had to agree.

Lo and behold, this was what Middlerift did to Vance. Feast your eyes on this grotesque abomination—a treat for sadistic eyes. Instead of skin, his feet had a dark layer of dragon-like scales. It wasn’t clear whether there was any human flesh left under these scales, but there was doubtless evidence of human bones. Indeed, his bones were sticking out like thorns or branches. None of them was in its right place; all were terribly dislocated and hideously positioned so that they would have no real role in his skeletal system. But it was not this thorny mass of bones that was most striking. Even more appalling was the grime that oozed out from among the dragon scales. The violet droplets of this strange substance defied the laws of physics; they moved as if with the animacy of life.

What did Pamela do? What did she accomplish through the operation, and what did she sacrifice without the permission of her patient? Vance didn’t have any answers, but he couldn’t ask any questions. After the traumatic experience, after the events that happened in Argilstead, in Sizensya’s Hut, and now in this cave, he had entered a state of complete shock. He couldn’t talk, and even if he could, he wouldn’t have known what to say. He couldn’t move. His feet were of course unresponsive, and while his arms were still working, they seemed to be too heavy for him to lift off the ground. He couldn’t think. Any thoughts or ideas evaporated from his mind like water from a boiling pot.

Every once in a while, Pamela and Eleanor would suddenly appear by his side as if from nothingness. The Dullahan would hold him down, although he had no intention to resist, and the lunar elf would remove old potion patches from his arm and attach new ones. System messages would duly alert him about one healing effect or the other, but he would pay these messages no regard. The informative words would echo in vain, without meaning, without value, without understanding. Then the deep silence would return, and Pamela and Eleanor would leave for a few hours until it was time for the cycle to repeat.

A whole day passed so monotonically before there was change. At the top of the twenty-fourth hour, Pamela removed the old potion patches but didn’t attach new ones. Instead, she performed a silent examination. With her tender hands, she moved the grotesque feet and rotated the left arm of her patient. Her intentions weren’t clear, but she seemed to be rather satisfied at the end of the check-up. And when she left, she didn’t take Eleanor away with her. For reasons still unknown, Eleanor remained by Vance’s side for the next hour or so. She didn’t hold him down; she didn’t move around; she didn’t say a consoling word. She simply sat down next to him.

Her presence brought Vance no comfort, but it forced the thoughts back to his mind. He began to think about his relationship with Eleanor. She had never meant to harm him in any way, but it seemed that she had been his angel of death. Every time she said she wanted to help him, she inadvertently brought him closer and closer to his doom. What could you call this relationship if not jinxed and deleterious? Many times she told him to trust her—she even said she wouldn’t let anyone harm him—but what did this trust bring him in the end? She was absent when the cauldron appeared, and she was too late to save him from the gratuitous malice of the solar elf.

He wasn’t blaming her for what happened; although he was paying a heavy price, she did save his life in the end. What he realized, however, was the grave mistake that he had made: the real mistake was not that he had stayed in the House of Turncoats too long, not that he had accepted the Vermeil patches, but that he had confused trust with dependence, trust with reliance. When Eleanor saved him from the Skull Jaws, he began to think of her as his only guide to Middlerift, subconsciously if not also consciously. She became his only reliable source of information. Her existence discouraged him from exploring the world on his own. And what a mistake it was to sink into that comfort zone. Never again. He promised himself. From now on, I’m on my own. Even if I have to crawl my way out of Middlerift, I won’t rely on another Headbound again.

Another hour passed in silence as Eleanor refused to talk. Sometimes Vance felt the inner strength of his resolve; sometimes the outer weakness of his dehumanized body; sometimes nothing at all. Then, suddenly, his right hand and its fingers moved on their own. There was an itch in his thigh, and his hand proceeded to scratch it without forethought. It was a surprise—a pleasant one. After one scratch, he rotated his wrist and looked at his palm. Then he bent his fingers to form a fist and stretched them slowly to open it again. It was the first sign of recovery, the first rebound from his original paralysis.

“It’s good that you’re starting to move again,” Eleanor said.

He continued to close and open his right fist.

“Do you remember what happened? Do you know why you’re here?”

He tried to move his left hand but failed.

“Your other limbs need more time to recover.”

He rotated his left arm with his right and saw faint stitch marks where the salamander-bite scar had been before. The scar had been slit open with a sharp surgical tool, and his forearm looked deflated and shriveled as if it had lost a substantial amount of inner mass.

“It was a difficult operation.”

Tossing his flame back, he looked up at shiny cave crystals that looked like twinkling stars in the deep night sky. It was such a beautiful sight—beautiful but meaningless—a consolation for his tired soul.

“I don’t know where to begin or what to say, but I’m really sorry, Vance.”

He laughed a little.

“Solsnam and Sizensya made a deal in private. He made her take you away while we were still deliberating, and we didn’t know about it until it was too late … Himilco got into a fight with the two. He called Solsnam a traitor and threatened to put him on trial for handing you over to Decay, but the elf called what happened an accident. He said he brought you to the swamp just to give you a little scare before he banished you; said he just wanted you to watch Hector’s execution. I still can’t believe what he did. It makes me feel ashamed as a Dullahan. But the Pact of Lost Flames doesn’t protect the rights of exiles, so there’s nothing I can do.”

“Did you arrest Hollie?” Vance said weakly. He didn’t care about everything that Eleanor had said. He only wanted to know how many of his enemies were on the noose and how many were still on the loose.

But Eleanor didn’t answer.

“You let Hollie go?” he said in surprise.

“No, she ran away.”

He laughed again.

“Solsnam gave an order to arrest her,” Eleanor said. “But we couldn’t find her anywhere. She must’ve sneaked out of the House of Turncoats at some point during the trial. She used to be a Spectral Assassin, so she had the appropriate skill set to make it past the guards. And …”

“And what?”

“Shannon’s coffin is gone.”

“Huh? What do you mean ‘gone’?”

“The undertaker said he was digging the grave when it just disappeared.”

“Coffins don’t just disappear.”

“He swears it was there one moment and gone the next. We suspect Hollie somehow managed to steal it.”

“She stole the corpse? But why?”

“During the trial, you made a convincing argument about why no one would want to murder Shannon, but it seems you were wrong. It seems that the Witch of Decay has a reason to target Shannon after all. And maybe a reason to target you too, Vance. Himilco and I think that Hollie was a Necronette. We think that she wanted to collect both Shannon’s corpse and yours. But we’re not yet sure why. All I can say is that we’re relieved. We got to you before she did, and we even managed to keep you alive. That’s a victory for Argilstead.”

“You call this a victory?” He pointed at his feet.

“We had no choice. There was no other way to save your life.”

“So, let me get this right: Solsnam wasn’t punished; Hollie escaped from the Dullahans; the Witch of Decay has Shannon’s body; and I’m disabled for life. It doesn’t sound like a fucking victory to me.”

“You’re not disabled for life. At least, we don’t know this yet.”

“That’s not the point, Eleanor. You can’t just whitewash this into a victory for Argilstead. Everything is fucked up, and to be honest, I don’t wanna be a part of this anymore. I’ve had enough.”

“Had enough?”

“Yes, as soon as I can walk … move again, I’ll go my own way.”

“Hollie and the Witch won’t leave you alone.”

“I don’t care. If they come after me, I’ll deal with them on my own.”

“You can’t be serious. They’ll kill you.”

“I defeated Hollie once, and I can do it again.”

“Things are different now. You need us … You need me for protection.”

“Need you?” Vance almost laughed in derision. “So far, you Dullahans have done me more harm than the Witch. I think I’m better off on my own. Or will you keep me prisoner in this cave? Come on, Eleanor, if you’re gonna imprison me next, just spit it out without all the manipulative introductions. Don’t try to word everything like you’re my savior.”

“We’re on your side, Vance,” Eleanor said. “But … we can’t let you go out into Middlerift like this. It’s like handing you to the Witch on a silver platter. And we don’t know what she’s planning to do with your corpse.”

“My corpse?” Vance echoed in disbelief. “You talk as if I’m already dead.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“You don’t think of me as a human anymore. I’m just an asset that shouldn’t fall in the hands of the Witch.”

“Please don’t rush into saying these things. Solsnam made a mistake, and we want to set things right. All we want is to protect your life.”

“You’re really planning to imprison me, aren’t you?”

“It’s not imprisonment.”

“I’m free to live or die as I please.”

“It’s still too early to fight over this,” Eleanor said, with calm and confidence. “Let’s wait until you recover a bit more. If you show us that you can survive in Middlerift on your own, we will let you go.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I believe in you, Vance. You will recover enough to survive.”

“Don’t dodge my question. What happens if I don’t?”

“Let’s not talk about this now.” Eleanor stood up.

“Answer my fucking question!” Vance shouted, with all his strength.

“Fine,” Eleanor snapped. Her tone suddenly changed, and she sounded more impatient and more antagonistic than before. “Here’s the plain truth, Vance. If you don’t recover enough to be able to complete your Class Ascension and leave Middlerift, I’ll have to keep you here until your Flame of Revival dies out. Then I’ll dispose of your corpse so that it never falls in the hands of the Witch.”

“I knew you were lying again,” Vance laughed. “I fucking knew it!”

“It pains me to do this, but Himilco and the Dullahan leadership concluded that we have no other option.” Eleanor looked down at him with her flame in doldrums. “Pamela … The lunar elf who saved your life will come talk to you in a bit. She has a lot to tell you about your body and about the novel treatment you underwent. Listen to her carefully. I paid her half of my flame’s worth, and her advice might help you walk again. I want you to live, Vance, but I can’t let my emotions get in the way of my duties. It all depends on your recovery now. Just as I said, if you show us that you can survive on your own, we will let you go without fights or drama.” And she walked away into the darkness of the cave.

***

The Dullahans were simply being pragmatic. Why would they let a disabled Turncoat embark on a foolish quest for an impossible Class Ascension? If he was going to die anyway, he should die under their supervision and oversight. This way the loss could be managed and the harms mitigated. But Vance had a different perspective. He had already gone through the trial and received the unfair punishment. He was banished. He became an exile. And the Dullahans had no right to control him anymore or to decide his fate. Whether he would die to a Middlerift Beast or to a Necronette, he still had the right to pursue his own goals in accordance with his personal freedoms.

And what did “show us that you can survive on your own” even mean? If he recovered enough to walk, the Dullahans might ask him to jog. If he could jog, they might tell him to run. If he could run, they might demand that he sprint. It would be easy for them to trap him in this cave using one excuse or the other, telling him again and again that he wasn’t ready, and his freedom would never return. No. No. No. He couldn’t let this happen. By gauging his weak Flame of Revival, he determined that he had four days left, and it was within these four days that he needed to act—he needed to recover, to escape from the Dullahans and the Witch, and to hunt his Middlerift Beast.

“ ‘Four days aren’t going to be enough.’ ” Pamela’s voice suddenly came from the dark. “That’s what I told them when they asked me if you’ll recover.”

Vance looked up and saw the lunar elf as she approached him. She walked with poise, pulling behind her the obedient satin hem of her traditional dress. Her height seemed even more staggering than before, now that Vance was wide awake; but she was also thin and elegant. And even more than her bewitching appearance, her words seemed to send his thoughts into complete disarray. She was the one who operated on his body; she knew his situation best; and now she was saying that it was impossible for him to recover. Despair had many forms, but Pamela was perhaps its most attractive personification.

“You … What did you do to my body without permission?” Vance said, finally posing the question that troubled him the most. “What are these dragon scales? What’s this disgusting grime? Why are my bones sticking out like this? Why did you cast damaging spells when you were supposed to use healing magic? What were you thinking? I don’t understand.”

“You were going to die,” Pamela said.

“Healing magic would’ve saved me.”

“No. Healing magic would’ve done nothing.”

“Nothing?”

Pamela bent down and sat on her knees, folding her dress under them with an elegant movement of the hand. Then she held his left arm and rotated it until the faint stitch marks were visible for him. She pointed at them with two of her long fingers and said, “There was a rather bad scar here, but now it’s gone. Do you remember how you got it?”

“A salamander bit me,” Vance said.

“And you went to a Helminsmage seeking help,” Pamela added.

“No,” Vance said. “I went to a healer.”

“No, you went to a Helminsmage, and this Helminsmage infected your arm with parasites. They have been growing inside ever since and have been slowly taking over your arm. In a few weeks, they would’ve grown enough to send you into a coma. Then you would’ve died, and only they would’ve remained inside your empty shell.”

“What are you saying?”

“You were tricked by a hostile Helminsmage. And I had to operate in parallel on both your left arm and your feet to save your life.”

Vance was suddenly dumbstruck. He cast his mind back to the night he first met Lauressa in Old Bastion. It was a dark hour of his life. Lauressa took him to Chester, and the latter healed his injury. Inside the rickety house, Vance had sat down on a bed with ragged sheets, and Chester had fetched a jar of black paste from a spider-infested wardrobe. Vance was too busy making sure that Chester wasn’t affiliated with the Church of Amirani, and he didn’t stop to ask about the contents of the black paste. Now, after he heard Pamela’s words, he suddenly realized that this black paste must have contained the eggs of parasites. And it finally made sense that Chester’s men never chased him after he refused to pay the old man: there was simply no need for a chase.

“Healing magic wouldn’t have saved your life,” Pamela repeated. “Not only because of these parasites, but also because of Septic Invaders. Your feet were infected with bogland bacteria, and healing magic isn’t effective against them.”

Vance returned from his unpleasant mnemonic trip. Having realized what Chester had done, he now asked, “How did you rid my body of these things?”

“I didn’t,” Pamela said. “I pit them against each other.”

“The parasites and the bacteria?”

“Yes,” Pamela said. “Your operation was the trickiest I’ve ever completed in my long career as a Helminsmage. I extracted the parasites from your arm and cleansed the area from their remains. Then I weakened the bogland bacteria using the damaging magic that you felt. Your human feet were destroyed in the process, but I had no other option. I needed to ensure that the bacteria were unable to reproduce at a fast rate. After that, I planted the grown parasites back into your feet. The bacteria attacked. The parasites retaliated. They continued to fight for resources and survival until the parasites managed to take over your feet and eliminate the bacteria.”

“So, my feet are now … made of parasites?” Vance looked at the grime and scales. “They’re not part of me anymore?”

“They are,” Pamela said. “The parasites are part of you. I overrode their link to their original master and made you their new master. You’re in a symbiotic relationship now. The parasites will function as your feet, and in return, they will receive 30% of your body’s nutritional intake.”

“You mean … 30% of everything I eat will go to them?”

“Yes, and if you don’t feed them well, they might rebel against you or start eating your body from the inside. It’s a terrible arrangement, I admit, but it was a necessary evil in your case.”

Vance couldn’t believe these cold words, which were spoken without the faintest consideration for his thoughts or feelings. These words established a reality and asked him to accept it, but it simply felt surreal—outrageous—that he had to share his body with another creature, even more so with a colony of flesh-devouring parasites. What would such a life be like? How could he feel safe anymore? How could he be certain that the parasites wouldn’t rebel against him the first time he missed breakfast? A potential enemy was now dwelling inside his own living body, and it was being called a ‘necessary evil.’

“Of course,” Pamela continued, “you don’t need to worry about feeding them in Middlerift. The nectar of the Teneb Rose keeps them nourished. Once you return to the human world, however, you’ll need to change your diet. Eat as if you’re eating for two. Increase your intake of proteins and carbohydrates. And avoid any potions or foods that are labeled as antiparasitics.”

Vance laughed in horror and said, “Will I ever be able to get rid of them?”

“I don’t see why you should. 30% may seem like a high nutritional burden, but it’s relatively low by the standards of helminsmagic. If you still insist on purging the parasites, I can do it. But I must warn you in advance: it won’t be easy or painless. Guided by my spells, the parasites have already formed a new skeletal structure and established full electro-magic connectivity to the rest of your body. Only an amputation can get rid of them.”

“What will you cut off exactly?”

“A below-knee amputation will be necessary.”

“I’ll lose a half of each leg forever.”

“And you might suffer from serious complications.”

“So I’m stuck with these parasites for the rest of my life.”

“You could say that. Or at least for a very long time.”

Vance clenched his fist tight and was about to punch the ground, but then he realized the futility of his anger. He was short of time, and the longer it took him to accept reality, the more he put himself at a disadvantage. I can’t go back to normal, so I have to work with what I have. He watched the disgusting grime. It was falling off the tips of his right foot to reveal the likeness of a dragon’s claw. I’ve been called a monster before. Now it feels like I'm really becoming one. He stared at the smoothly curved nails decorating the claw. But there’s nothing wrong with becoming a monster if it keeps me going. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to live even a second longer.

“Will I be able to stand up? Walk? Run? Jump?” he finally asked.

“I don’t know,” Pamela said, without pretense. “The parasites you have are a subspecies of the Dragonsbane family. They grow on the outer surface of dragon eggs and give them a scaly appearance. I heard they’re used as slow, stealthy killers by some human Helminsmages, but we lunar elves have never studied their interactions with living bodies, and there is even less data available to us about their use as organ replacements.”

“How could you know so little about these parasites?”

“You humans are to blame for that. Most dragon nesting grounds are located in the mountains bordering the human world, and your lovely Church makes it excruciatingly difficult for non-humans to collect any samples.”

“It’s always the Church that fucks me up, isn’t it?”

“A correspondent of mine once sent me letters theorizing that Dragonsbane had a role in the development and maturation of dragons. This is how I came to know about this family of parasites in the first place. But I can’t imagine how we could generalize any of his findings from dragon to human.”

“I just need to know if I’ll be able to move like normal again.”

“Well, since we lack research data, I suppose we can try to find an answer on our own. Helminsmagic is all about experiments, and this one might be quite interesting.” Pamela held both of his feet in her hands and started to move them. “From what I can see, the parasites have formed a strong bone structure and built a thick layer of muscle. The scales are hard enough to break a blade, and the grime can act as a powerful shock absorber. There is certainly potential for superhuman movement, but there might not be enough time to exploit it. Training the parasites to function right will be no easy endeavor.”

“How much time do you think I need?” Vance said.

“The time a crescent needs to become a full moon.” Pamela wiped the grime to reveal more of his claws. With her thumbs pressed hard against them, she continued, “I believe you’ll need two weeks to start moving your new feet in any meaningful way, but this is only an extrapolation from my experience with other parasites; it’s not a hard fact. So … do you think you can prove me wrong? Do you think you can integrate the parasites in less than four days? If you still want to struggle … if you don’t want to spend your twilight in peace, I wouldn’t mind accompanying you until your flame’s last hour.”