Talia leapt over the ambulatory corpse, twisting in the air to land on the other side. Immediately, her foot lashed out in a roundhouse kick, destroying the half-rotted creature’s skull before it even had the chance to turn around. She followed it up with a quick punch, caving in the horrible monster’s chest. When she pulled back, her hand was coated in disgusting black ichor that tingled as it attempted to burn through her skin.

“Girl!” came a nearby voice. Talia had no issues standing up to the zombies that infested the Farindale Forest, but the moment she heard that voice, she couldn’t help but flinch. It had dogged her through every step of the journey, and she wanted nothing more than to turn around and take her frustrations out on its owner. Not that it would do any good, of course. The man would take her apart without breaking a sweat. But that didn’t stop her from imagining it. “Back with the group!”

Talia spun to cast a glare at the rest of her party. The man in the lead was built like a bear, with broad shoulders, a torso like a barrel, and thick, powerful legs. His imposing size was only enhanced by the gleaming, bulky armor he wore. Most adventurers eschewed plate mail, instead trusting to lighter armor and their own endurance to deal with most attacks. But Abdul Rumas, the leader of the expedition, wasn’t like most adventurers – a fact which he’d proved time and time again when he’d single-handedly subdued threats that would’ve normally taken entire parties to overcome.

In addition to the bulky armor, Abdul also wielded a kite shield as well as what normally appeared to be a utilitarian sword. However, right now, the sword glowed with holy light – a trademark of the truly powerful Paladins of the Sun Goddess. A legend within the temple, he was well-known for his prowess against the undead. In fact, in Talia’s personal opinion, the man was extremely overqualified for the mission they had been given, and she suspected that his inclusion was her mother’s doing. Lady Constance wasn’t above using one of her powerful subordinates to ensure her daughter’s safety.

Talia quickly retreated past the party’s frontline fighters to reluctantly join the healers, archers, and other casters, all the while chastising herself for letting the tide of battle sweep her away. Though she was far more powerful than any individual zombie, the creatures were so numerous that even Abdul was at risk of being overwhelmed.

But it wouldn’t have been an issue if she’d been included in the frontline fighters. Instead, Abdul – likely at Lady Constance’s insistence – had grouped her with the fragile casters where she could do little good. Her lone healing skill, [Circle of Mending] radiated out from her body, healing the people around her. It was a powerful ability, but it also had a glaring downside. In order to get the most out of it, she had to be in the thick of the fighting, putting herself at risk. And Abdul was not going to allow that. So, she’d spent most of the journey feeling incredibly useless.

“Cure!” Abdul called out, pointing at one of the frontline warriors who’d just been bitten by a zombie.

Eager to do something other than stand around, Talia sprang forward, the rune associated with her skill, [Purify] already activating. Mana flooded the rune, so when she touched the man – she thought his name was Johan, though she couldn’t be sure – she released the skill and flooded him with cleansing fire. Blue flames rushed across the man’s body, but they didn’t hurt him. In fact, it was quite the opposite; the flames quickly flowed from where Talia had touched him on the shoulder, across his torso, and to his left arm, where they flared brighter and hotter. In an instant, they disappeared, and with them, the disease of a zombie’s bite went with it.

The disease itself wasn’t all that powerful. It simply robbed an infected person of a few stats and crippled their regeneration. However, what really hurt was that it remained active until it was cleansed. Or until it crossed some nebulous threshold and the infected person started turning into a zombie. That wouldn’t happen for days – or sometimes weeks – but without someone with the right skill, getting diseased by a zombie was a death sentence. Or an undeath sentence, maybe. Either way, it wasn’t something anyone wanted to experience.

That, as much as Lady Constance’s desire for her to remain safe, was why Talia wasn’t supposed to join the front lines. After all, the party’s other two healers didn’t have the requisite skill to cure the disease. Instead, they’d specialized in direct healing. And while Talia knew she was an integral part of the expedition, that didn’t make her feel any less useless.

Over the next couple of hours, they endured the horde of zombies, felling hundreds of the creatures. From time to time, Talia would be tasked with curing someone’s disease. Or she’d spring forward and heal the group of frontline warriors with [Circle of Mending]. She knew she was just as responsible for the party’s success as anyone – maybe even more so, considering she was the only one who could cure the disease that came with the zombies’ bites. But casting a skill here and there wasn’t nearly as satisfying as crushing a zombie’s skull with a well-placed kick or a thunderous punch.

Talia had rarely been allowed to truly let loose. She’d always had minders. Guards. People to tell her to hang back and let the real warriors work. But she lived for those rare occasions when she had lost herself in the heat of a real battle. Dancing between her foes, her fists and feet lashing out like bolts of lightning, narrowly avoiding her enemies’ attacks – that was what she craved. That was who she desperately wanted to be.

But that wasn’t who she was.

No matter how much she trained, no matter how hard she worked, she would never be a real warrior. She was just a healer, and a weak one at that. Life would’ve been so much easier if she could just make herself accept her role, like her mother so clearly wanted. She’d wasted a few stats, but she could right the ship if she followed her mother’s advice going forward.

Finally, Abdul felled the last of the zombies. The entire group stood there, panting from the exertion. Black ichor covered everyone, but they were whole and, if necessary, they could’ve kept fighting for another few hours. Maybe longer, given Abdul’s high level and effectiveness against the undead. Luckily, that wouldn’t be necessary.

Abdul glanced around the ruins, his great chest still heaving beneath his sturdy breastplate. He’d singlehandedly accounted for more than half of their kills, and he looked it. His normally gleaming armor was so covered in the black ichor that it was now a matte black that reflected almost no light. Not that there was much illumination within the Farindale Forest. Between the forest’s thick canopy and the everpresent mist that clung to the entire area, even at midday, the place was dark and foreboding – a fitting home for the undead.

“Ten minutes,” he said. “Then, we forge ahead until we find an appropriate place to make camp. For now, Dev and Felicia, you’re on watch. The rest of you, rest. We dare not linger here long.”

Though she was contrary by nature, Talia couldn’t argue with the paladin’s orders. However, she could make a quick round to ensure that no one needed her help. She hated being relegated to the back lines, but that didn’t mean she would shirk her duties as a healer. Luckily, though, none of the fifteen-strong party was infected with disease, and only a few needed healing. She gathered them around her, then used [Circle of Mending] before settling down to [Meditate]. The skill settled into her core, churning the mana to increase her regeneration, so by the time Abdul announced the time for their departure, she was close to full capacity.

The next couple of hours found the group warily stalking through the eerily silent forest, careful not to draw too much attention. They could deal with a horde of zombies, but the closer they got to the Micayne Estate, the more dangerous it would become. Why the insane Abraham Micayne had built his manor in the middle of a zombie-infested forest, Talia had no idea. But he had, and by all accounts, the grounds were powerfully enchanted to keep out even the worst undead.

So, why hadn’t the man responded to Lady Constance’s summons? Had he finally been overrun? And if so, what was strong enough to threaten a powerful man like Abraham Micayne? Those questions had haunted Talia throughout their arduous journey, but no answers had been forthcoming. Likely, they wouldn’t discover the truth of the matter until they finally reached their destination. Even then, it was unlikely they’d get the entire story.

Abdul called a halt when they reached an abandoned hovel atop a hill. The building had crumbled to mostly nothing, its thatched roof rotted and all but one of its walls fallen. The one holdout precariously clung to its structure, though it looked as if one strong gust would fell the rough, stone wall. Either way, the spot hadn’t been chosen for the thin protection the hovel might provide. Instead, it had been chosen because of its location atop the shallow hill, which would offer the scouts better sightlines in the event that they were attacked.

Immediately, the bulky and bearded paladin began a circuitous route along the base of the hill, circling it completely before he did the same, ten feet further in. Then another circle. And another. The entire time, Abdul’s face held an expression of intense concentration. His heavy brows furrowed and his mouth compressed into a thin line, buried amongst his thick beard. Finally, the man reached the center of the camp, having circled it nearly twenty times. Once there, he planted himself inside the hut, where he stood for close to half an hour. He didn’t move a single muscle. He didn’t blink. He simply stood like a statue, his eyes closed and his head tilted toward the sky.

Finally, Talia felt an incredible amount of mana gathering. Some of it came from Abdul, gushing out of him like a torrential river. But it was nothing compared to the turbulent sea of energy overlaying the hill. Talia felt like she’d been submerged in a pit of lava, the wild mana sloughing at the very edges of her soul.

Then, all of it rushed inward. Even her mana, tightly packed inside her core as it was, leaked out, joining the stampede. Other, less aware members of the party gasped as they were sucked dry, as their mana was stripped from them. It hurt. Even Talia, who’d expected it, and thus, had marshalled her willpower against it, felt the agony of it. But for those who hadn’t, it was exponentially more excruciating. Luckily, it was only a second before Abdul gathered all of that mana – whether it was the ambient energy of the area, his own mana, or that of the rest of the expedition – and channeled it through his own channels. It shot back out, guided by his will into the giant rune he’d drawn around the hill. It drank the mana eagerly, and after a handful of seconds, everything died down.

Abdul finally sank to his knees, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He bent over, resting his palms against the ground. Talia watched with keen eyes. It wasn’t everyday she got to see someone cast [Consecration], which made the entire hill anathema to the undead. With that in play, they could rest in peace.

The skill was likely the most complicated ability Talia had ever heard of. Not only did it require the user to draw the requisite rune upon the ground, but it was also incredibly mana-hungry to the point that it often required more than a single person could generate. Sometimes, less skilled paladins would link with other casters, siphoning mana from them. But true masters like Abdul could bleed the mana from their surroundings. Her mother, Lady Constance, could power the skill on her own. Such was the power of one of the rare Chosen.

It took Abdul about thirty minutes to regain strength enough to stand. He was still wan, his complexion pale, but the big man powered through it. In the meantime, everyone else had set about making camp. Tents were raised, fires started, and meals begun. For her part, Talia had her own tent, which had been enchanted to erect itself, so she used the time to gather herself. So, when the paladin found her, she was sitting cross-legged in front of her tent, meditating before the small fire she’d started. No one had dared erect their own tents within fifteen feet of hers. Such was the cost of being the daughter of the most powerful woman among the Radiant Isles.

His armor creaking, Abdul sat next to her, propping his forearms on his knees. For a while, the man remained silent, content to stare at the flames as he continued to recover his strength. Finally, he sighed, saying, “You can’t keep doing this, Talia.”

Talia ground her teeth together in frustration. “I know,” she muttered. “But Dev would’ve gone down if I hadn’t –”

“It’s not your job,” the big man growled. He wasn’t nearly as taciturn as his looks might indicate, but he still wasn’t the most personable person in the world. He turned, pointing an armored finger at her as he added, “You are a healer. You heal. You don’t rush into a horde of zombies like you’re a superhero.”

The last word served to highlight the difference between her and most other people. She wasn’t the only person to have been born in the new world, but they were certainly the minority. Almost everyone else came from that other place. They’d lived and died and been reborn. And while Talia had heard enough stories about Earth – mostly from her mother and various teachers – the old world was still a very mysterious place to her. It also further exacerbated the realities of her station, adding her uncommon origins to the distance created by her being the daughter of the most powerful woman on the main island. Perhaps the world.

“I know,” she sighed. “I just wanted to help.”

The man reached out, gripping her shoulder. She almost flinched away, so unused to human contact was she. However, with an effort of will, she remained still, if very tense. Abdul had to notice, but thankfully, he didn’t remark on the tension he felt.

“Help by doing your job,” he said. “None of us would’ve made it through that without your cures. And if something happened to you…”

“My mother would kill you all,” Talia spat. She wasn’t certain if she believed that, but her mother’s temper was legendary. When Talia’s father had been slain, the woman had gone on a rampage that left half the island in flames.

Abdul laughed, the sound a deep, basso rumbling that probably would’ve been better served as the portent of an earthquake. “Probably, yeah,” he said. “But I’m not worried about Constance. I’m worried about the people under my command. Without you, they all die. Slow, horrible deaths, too. Remember that the next time you’re tempted to leap into the fray.”

With that, the paladin rose to his feet and went on his way, stopping at the next tent to converse with Johan. Abdul did that every night, taking the time to speak to everyone in the party. And while Talia knew from her own education in leadership that it was a simple command tactic designed to simultaneously make everyone feel included and engender loyalty, she didn’t begrudge the paladin’s efforts.

If only his assurances had worked to dispel the feelings of uselessness that had become her constant companions. Sighing, Talia shook her head. Eventually, she would have to make a choice. Would she embrace her given role as a healer? Or would she pursue a life of action, as she truly desired?