Old Witch Gau. It was a name Stroud heard often in his visits to Ebbinside.

She was something of a legend in the community. An omnipresent existence. The woman helped deliver babies, tended to the wounded hunters, and brewed medicine for the sick — seemingly all at once if you went by the stories.

But as soon as Stroud made an effort to find her, it was as if she had become a ghost. No more than an idea with which to entertain travelers or scare off ruffians.

Every. single. time... he would just miss her. She would be spotted heading to the butcher’s in the morning only to appear across town in the market when he arrived in the rancid, bloody shop. Then, after a hurried trip to the square, a passerby would point him toward the apothecary on the southern outskirts where he had seen the witch last.

No matter what, Stroud always seemed to be chasing after her tail. There were days he just ran around randomly in hopes of bumping into her, but he had to quickly put an end to that after earning a reputation for harassing old women.

It was immensely frustrating. And if not for the vehement word of Hastyr and the Chief, Stroud really would have believed the townspeople were just tooling him around.

He could accept that it was part of her mystique — only appearing where and when she was needed...

But he needed her now. So why was this so difficult?

There were only a few days left until he would be traveling with Landon and Maeve to Frostrane. The Mors he had received from the Baron to buy supplies jingled conspicuously in his purse, but he had none of the tools he thought he needed to ensure his safety in a crowded city full of Magi.

Stroud exhaled a deep breath, leaning against the damp logs of a cabin. It had rained again last night and the streets of Ebbinside were slick with mud.

Overhead, the dark clouds continued their hurried passage through the skies, threatening to unleash more of their burden should they find themselves displeased with the gazes of those below.

There’s always more rain. Stroud craned his neck, looking skyward. For days on end, it had continued. Flooding the brook that flowed through the valley and washing away the final traces of dirt-smeared snow. The First Crossing was approaching at the end of an unrelenting storm.

A bad omen. Stroud heard the whispers. Disorder. The new year would be full of unrest as the old was swept away by the violent waters of change.

He’d never been one to buy into superstitions, but Stroud felt the unease in his gut growing. Like a parasite, it fed on his fears as it wormed its way to his mind where it nestled comfortably.

A low growl rumbled through his chest as Stroud unleashed some of his burdens, kicking his boot into a nearby puddle in agitation. He watched as the droplets soared through the air to finally land on the hem of a tattered grey cloak.

“What’s all the fuss, child? If there is something bothering you — speak with your elders. Sulking here in an alley does no one any good.”

Stroud sighed as he heard the aged, raspy voice. Another offense to add to his list of transgressions against the old women of Ebbinside.

He bowed without looking at the speaker. “My apologies, Ma’am. I allowed my frustrations to get the better of me.”

Cackling laughter, that sounded like an old parchment being crumpled, entered into his ears. Startled, Stroud finally gazed up at the other party.

She sported none of the traits that were so common in this area. Her hair was thin and grey, scattered across her forehead in a frizzy mess, and her eyes were a pale yellow shade that appeared almost feral in nature.

How had he never seen her before?

Pretty much all of the townsfolk had thick blonde hair and blue eyes, so this woman should have stood out like a black sheep among the flock.

Her broad grin revealed decayed and yellowing teeth, with quite a few missing in-between. “It’s been a long time since someone addressed me as Ma’am. So I suppose I can forgive your lack of actual remorse.”

It’s her. Stroud’s mind stumbled through the errant block of surprise that threw it off-balance. He reached out, opening his mouth to call out to her. She was so close, but she already seemed to be slipping away.

“What’re grabbing at me for, boy?” the woman snapped as she shrunk away from his hand. One of her eyes opened wider than the other, observing him cautiously. “Don’t tell me you’re the one who’s been harassing everyone? I’ll scream for help if you take another step…”

Stroud flinched back immediately, retracting his hand and holding it tightly with his other as if to prevent it from acting on its own will. “Ah… Are you… are you the old witch, Gau?”

“I much prefer Ma’am…” the old woman began shuffling around Stroud like a crab as she attempted to pass him by. “...But that is what they call me around here.”

“Please!” Stroud’s hand shot out again subconsciously, but he quickly wrangled it back in. “I just need a moment of your time!”

Gau froze, her legs spread wide apart in an awkward stance. “What’re you after?”

“Potions, elixirs, whatever you’d like to call them. I have a… unique condition, and I need some medicine to help me out. I’m willing to reward you generously for any help.” Stroud’s words tumbled out of his mouth like a landslide and his heart palpitated wildly. He had no idea why he was so nervous speaking to this woman.

“Rewards—” the witch scoffed. She held up her hand and rubbed her fingers together in the universal sign for money. “I only care about coins that shine of silver and gold. Don’t speak to me as if you’re some Lord offering his vassal a pat on the back for a job well done.”

After that quip, Stroud decided it was best to hold his tongue altogether. He held up his coin purse and gave it a shake for her to hear.

“Good. That’s all that needs to be said between friends.” Gau cracked another toothy grin. “I don’t have anything to mend that shattered Spiritual Sea of yours, but we can still take a look at my wares. Come along…” She spun around, whipping the tatters of her cloak through the air in a pompous manner as she stalked off toward the woods at the edge of town.

For a moment, Stroud felt stuck in place, sinking into the mud as he realized that Gau had seen right through him from the very start. As for himself, he hadn’t even detected a trace of her spiritual perception or aura. He wondered how safe it was to follow after her...

But the witch moved with a speed that belied her age; there was no time to falter if he didn’t want to lose her again.

Stroud’s boots lifted from the brown sludge with a wet suction-like noise as he ran towards the dark forest.

Gnarled, grasping branches and dense underbrush did their best to impede his progress, but Stroud was unwilling to lose sight of the woman — another spark of hope. He scampered along the trail, his ragged breath sounding loudly in his ears...

***

Following a short hike, they emerged from the damp and springy shadows, arriving in a clearing devoid of the dense moss and trees, characteristic of the mountains.

The old witch hurried into a ramshackle hut at the edge of the glen while Stroud followed closely, picking his way carefully through the small herb garden out front.

“Cloak off. Let me get a good look at you, boy.” Gau croaked out as Stroud closed the thatch door behind him.

He quickly did as the witch bid after noticing that she had done the same. It was a bit of an odd request, but he didn’t think there was any kind of strange intention hidden behind it. Cautiously, Stroud took in her decrepit form as he folded up his cloak in his arms.

Appearing devoid of all vitality, her dry, withered skin clung tightly to her bones, and in contrast, the plain trousers and tunic that she wore drooped loosely from her stick-thin frame.

Gau attempted to roll her sleeves up past her sharp elbows, but they slid right back down, in contempt of her efforts. She huffed in annoyance as she began rummaging around through the many wicker baskets that cluttered the floor of the hut. “Alright. What kind of potions are you after?”

“Liquid Nura. Should danger find me, I need something I can use to help me cast spells—” Stroud gagged suddenly, covering his nose and mouth with the water-logged cloth in his arms. It was really difficult to see anything in the dim room — as Gau had lit no candles — but whatever she had just uncorked smelled something awful. The acrid aroma stung his nose before traveling down into his lungs where it left him no room to breathe.

He coughed loudly a few times which seemed to attract the witch’s attention as she stood and turned around to face him.

“What attribute of Nura, boy?” she grumbled, placing her hands on her hips as she glared at him. “You sound so assured, but you come to me without even knowing what you need…”

“I-I have a primal affinity and an invocation spell in my possession…” Stroud forced out as he regathered himself.

“Raw Nura then. Well, you should know that raw Nura isn’t cheap. Even though it pervades our surroundings, natural ingredients that gather pure arcane energy are difficult to come by — especially in these parts. And on top of that, the distilling process can take years…”

Stroud waved a hand. “I don’t need it to be perfect… Just enough for me to use.”

Gau clicked her tongue as she returned her attention to the baskets. “Half-measures will yield half-results, boy.”

“Well, unless you know of someone or some method to heal my Sea — this is the best I can do for myself right now.” Stroud clenched his jaw to prevent his frustration from leaking as he spread his spiritual perception through the room. A chaotic jumble of results returned to his mind, swirling around in a multi-colored haze before he felt his consciousness abruptly slapped away when it approached the witch.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you that was rude,” Gau grumbled as she waded through the mess. She soon arrived at a long counter that she leaned over, rummaging around like a raccoon digging through the trash. Her bony fingers tossed scraps of paper and empty sacks through the musty air.

“Didn’t you look at me first,” Stroud retorted before he could bite back his tongue.

He heard a muffled snort from behind the wood. “I didn’t look at you, I looked around you. That empty hole in your gut makes you more conspicuous than you realize. Your body appears like a void in the haze of energy.”

Stroud grimaced as those words pierced his heart with the sharpness of a knife. Everyone at the estate tended to tread carefully around the topic of his injury. He’d never had someone speak of it so matter-of-factly. “You make it sound like there’s nothing that can be done about my Sea.”

Gau grunted with exertion as she hauled a heavy wood case onto the counter and dusted it off with her hand. “No. There just ain’t no way to heal it.”

“...What do you mean by that?” Stroud took a hesitant step forward.

The witch slowly unlatched and opened the case, shaking her head. “And here I was thinking you Magi were supposed to be a learned, scholarly folk... The wound is already healed, boy. Poorly. It’s been too long since your injury to make amends now. There may be a scar on the surface, but the Sea below it is as good as gone. It’s not as simple as piecing it back together like a shattered mason jar.”

“But the Baron said that—”

Gau snapped the case in her hands shut. “Don’t believe anyone around the northern reaches that says they can fix an injury like that. They’re either liars or fools. The kind of spell required… well, it would have to be capable of reversing the flow of the time. More than likely, you’ll need to find some way to regrow a completely new one.”

“So there’s a way…” Stroud breathed out.

“There’s always a way — should the heavens will it.” Gau approached with three thin vials in her hand. The substance inside of them was as clear as the water of a pure mountain spring, but it sloshed around leaving trails on the glass like it had a syrupy texture. “I’ll cut you a deal. Three standard doses of raw Nura for 8 gold Mors.”

Stroud clenched his hands into fists, splattering drops of water onto the floor as he wrung out the cloak. That price seemed outrageous. It was more than half of what they’d paid for the Spirit Core, and he’d only been given 10 gold Mors and some change, in total, for buying supplies.

“How many times can each dose allow me to cast?”

“Boy, you’re lucky I’m such a gentle and kind old woman because anyone else would have snatched every last coin from you while leaving you with nothing more than piss-water….” The bird’s nest of twigs, leaves, and thin hair on Gau’s head bobbed up and down as she lectured him. “This is some high purity stuff, but the amount of times you can cast is all dependent on the spell. That’s something you’ll have to figure out for yourself. Most people wouldn’t even think of using an external Nura source to cast either. They’d be sucking this down into their Sea to advance or using it for their own concoctions. Such a waste...”

Stroud’s frown sunk so deep that it threatened to spill below his chin. “What other choice do I have? I can’t defend myself without it.”

“What exactly are you defending yourself from, huh?” Gau was practically manic as she waved her arms around. “Stars above, child—! Do you understand that carrying this Nura around will invite more danger to yourself than anything you could possibly be imagining right now? Even that soft old Baron would be tempted to snatch them from your grasp…”

“Well, then what am I supposed to do!” Stroud shouted, his chest heaving. “I can hardly pick up a sword, and I can’t cast a spell… Am I just supposed to bend over and offer my head?”

“Of course not! You’re supposed to think!” Gau dashed toward Stroud with a speed he couldn’t track and flicked him square in the forehead.

The force of the blow rippled through his mind and quelled his brewing anger in an instant.

“Don’t allow your fear to bend your thoughts to its will. You know nothing about the ways of cultivation, yet you came to me with answers in your head instead of questions.”

“I-I…” Stroud paused and inhaled a long, shuddering breath. “I apologize… I don’t have much time before I’ll be leaving and I allowed my urgency to push me into an imagined corner.”

“As long as you know,” Gau grunted, crossing her arms across her chest. “Now, go on… ask me.”

Stroud’s eyes turned up toward the ceiling, tracing across the rotted wood planks and cobwebs as he sunk into thought. “What can I do to… improve myself?”

“Start with your body,” Gau stated bluntly. “Cultivation is all about balance: between the body, mind, and spirit. You Magi have a tendency to lump the mind and spirit together, but I can assure you — they are very different. I think one of the reasons you may be feeling so anxious is because your spirit vastly outstrips your mind and body.”

“Can that be dangerous?” Stroud twitched, wondering exactly how much she knew about his soul.

“Yes. Very. It places a lot of strain on your other aspects.”

“All right…” he began slowly, trying to suppress his resurging agitation. “Then how can I improve my body? And how worried should I be about my spirit?”

“You’ll improve your body with these.” Gau unfurled her hand, revealing the vials of Nura again. “As for your impending death…” she casually tapped a finger against her chin, “I’d say you have a decade, give or take a couple of years, before the pressure from your spirit ruptures your body and collapses your mind. All of this can be solved by advancing into the second realm of Mortal Shaping.”

“...Of what?

The witch waved her hand dismissively. “The Second Order, or whatever you call it. You get the idea.”

Stroud’s heart sunk into his stomach where it settled next to a new knot of squirming concern. That was an awfully vague and short amount of time to accomplish such a monumental task — even for someone who had an intact Sea of Nura. Most Magi in the reaches didn’t advance to the Second Order until they were in their 40s, like Baron Marwood.

He spoke through clenched teeth, “I… understand. So, how can I use this Nura to improve my body?”

“Same way as any other practitioner. I’ll help you through one round of energy dispersion as an added bonus, but I’ll still be needing those Mors.” Gau’s cheeky grin was almost enough to set him off, but Stroud controlled himself at the last moment.

He didn’t wholly trust the witch, but neither could he think of any reason to refuse. She’d already demonstrated an overwhelming superiority. And if she was really interested in swindling his money — she could just take it by force. They were all alone out in the woods, after all.

But if her method worked, Stroud would certainly reap some benefits. If it didn’t… well, there wasn’t much that could be done to weaken his body further.

“Fine. Let’s get this started — now, if possible…”

“Right, right… you’re a very busy man. How could I forget…” the old crone remarked sarcastically, but she began clearing a space amidst the clutter on the floor.

When it was wide enough, Stroud placed his belongings to the side and sat down in its center, assuming a meditative position.

“The first step is easy,” Gau instructed from above, “Just drink the Nura and let it settle into the space below your navel. Though I should warn you: this stuff is raw, so it's likely to be quite painful.” She poured out a spoonful of the liquid into a nearby cup and brought it down to Stroud’s lips.

He took a deep breath, then pinched his nose and crumpled his face, gulping it down like it was some sort of nasty medicine.

Power. Destruction. Dominance.

Raw Nura was everything Stroud imagined it to be.

It felt like he’d swallowed a lightning bolt whole.

The potent liquid traveled down his throat in a sizzling torrent. He could feel its progress clearly as it slithered down through his chest and into his gut, leaving scorched and frayed nerves in its wake.

Unable to exhibit any measure of self-control, Stroud’s eyes bulged and his mouth flopped open, emitting an inaudible roar.

“The next few times won’t be so tough — push through it,” Gau urged.

He struggled, but his body only contorted and spasmed awkwardly as if a puppeteer was jerking him around. All the while, a bloating feeling spread through his lower body, swelling rapidly.

A hand pressed into his back, and the pressure building in his stomach abruptly discharged in a miniature explosion, like someone had forced him to swallow a lit firecracker instead of some viscous medicine.

The resulting pulse of energy traveled out through his extremities in a charged wave, eventually dispelling into the atmosphere.

Stroud gasped, finally able to draw in air, and the power in his body disappeared just as quickly as it had arrived. If it wasn’t for the tingling of his skin — he may have thought it was all a brief illusion.

“Not too bad, eh?”

He remained silent.

An ache slipped through his bones and his muscles clenched tightly. It hadn’t been that he felt nothing, he was just numb.

Sensation slowly returned and he groaned loudly as all the pain that had been suppressed washed through his system.

Undeterred, Gau continued babbling on, ignoring his moans and gasps, “You’re gonna need to rest up for a day or two before trying again. And… because I won’t be around to assist in the future — I’ll pass along a basic breathing technique that will help you disperse the Nura.”

Struggling to his feet, Stroud nodded. His tongue still felt too swollen to speak, but he fumbled through his coin purse and handed over the payment.

The witch accepted the coins with a gracious dip of her head and handed over the vials and a tattered notebook she’d pulled from who knows where.

Stroud tucked them all away in a daze, but before he could turn to leave, Gau caught his eye.

She tapped her forehead thrice as she spoke, “Remember: mind, body, and spirit as one. Don’t push your mind any further than the first layer until your body catches up.”

Stroud sharpened his gaze and nodded. “Thanks for the help…”

Gau winked and practically dragged him out of the hut. His boots scraped against the floor as his mind stirred back into motion.

A heavy mist greeted him as the door swung open and he received a final shove in the back

“Wait for just a—” A last-second question popped into his head and Stroud turned around to…

It was gone. He stood alone in the hazy glade; accompanied only by the soothing rush of the nearby creek and the steady pitter-patter of water dripping from the trees.

Stroud stood listlessly in the clearing, rolling the vials of Nura between his fingers as he pressed the rough cover of the journal against his palm.

A heavy drop of water landed on his head and trickled down the back of his neck, evoking a shiver.

“Fuck! ...She stole my cloak.”