“You have a frightening grasp on fire and lightning, but the other basic elements seem to be eluding you,” Verist said, legs crossed as she sat on a metal chair padded with some luxurious material the kobold in front of her couldn't recognize. The intricate molding seemed like it would have snapped under the weight of someone like Grot, yet it held up perfectly with the witch atop it. Only serving to exacerbate Red's condition just a few feet away struggling to lift a single stone from the white tower's floor with her magic.

The mage was panting heavily, all of her mind focused on moving a block that was only the size of her body. She had blown away larger pieces of ground, yet lifting it with the same kind of magic Verist used to move the tower walls and such around was like trying to lift Merdon in his armor. Red felt the strain in her body as much as her mind. Sweat dripped off her snout and ran down her back like a river. Which only reminded her of the water manipulation she failed hours beforehand.

“Why is this... so damn hard?” she struggled to utter before dropping the stone back into place unceremoniously. The heavy thud of the block shook the area around her feet and made the red-scaled mage reel. Red panted and wiped her forehead before glaring at Verist. “Fire, lightning, easy. Water? Impossible. Earth, I'd have an easier time physically throwing these things.”

The witch nodded and shrugged. “Every mage aligns to some elemental type. There's no weakness involved as some have speculated, simply that certain elements come easier than others. Fire was easy for you because you're well attuned to it, and that's just a short hop to electricity. Water, earth, ice, wind, those sorts of things are practically on the opposite end of the spectrum for you.” Verist said all of it with authority, leaving Red no real room to complain or argue.

“I don't have time to stumble,” she told the witch as she stood up straight and started to concentrate again. Moving the stone had been easier than the water, so it was better practice.”

“Please, even if you were to gain a perfect understanding of the vast elemental forces out there we still have many pure magical spells to learn,” Verist told her. “Don't break your mind so quickly learning parlor tricks.”

Red's hand dropped to her side and she narrowed her eyes at the witch. “Parlor tricks? So what isn't a parlor trick to you?”

Verist smiled and leaned forward. “Do you remember the spell you cast right here in this room?” At the top of the tower, against Verist herself. Red nodded, it was impossible to forget that fight. They'd almost died. “Most magic can be accomplished without incantations or chants,” she began, standing up and walking over to a bookshelf. “The few that do require vocal commands are leagues above the ones that don't. You don't simply call forth magic from within, you pull it from the air, the earth, everything around you, the very cosmos itself.”

“Sounds fake to me.” Red crossed her arms and tapped her foot against the white stone of the tower. “I didn't feel any different casting that spell than any other.”

“Of course not,” Verist replied, shaking her head as she pulled a book from the shelf. “You pulled all your mana out, as well as the mana of the world around you. Think about it like digging a ditch from a lake to a stream. The stream is much smaller, but the larger burst of water still flows the same direction.”

The witch sat the book on the table, drawing Red's curiosity if nothing else. Inside, as Verist flipped to the page, someone had detailed the exact spell Red had spoken nearly a year before. Its effects, how to counter it, how it was made, even who had created it. Some great wizard attuned to fire in years past, apparently.

“So?” the kobold asked, looking sideways at Verist. “What's the point?”

Verist sighed. “You could spend the rest of your life rounding your skills out, Red. You could master all the elemental spells in the world, but when confronted by any great mage, anyone near the caliber of me, that one incantation would be stronger than casting every other spell you know without one.” The witch then smirked and turned a few pages, revealing a spell of great lightning. “And there's more.”

Red's mouth opened involuntarily as she realized what Verist was getting at. Learning how to throw rocks with her mind, maybe conjure barriers, or pull moisture from the air, was mastering basics. If she wanted to deal damage, and by the gods, she wanted to turn Ardmach into a second sun by the time they got there, she needed to double down on what she already knew. To become the best fire-spitting lizard smaller than a dragon.

“Where do I start?” she asked, looking at Verist with renewed vigor.

The witch chuckled. “Easy, memorize the spells and incantations. When you can repeat them in your sleep, you'll never lose them. Once you have that, it's simple practice.”

“You seem distracted,” Skyeyes said the next morning as he sat across from Red in their room within the tower. Their legs were crossed and the priest's eyes were closed. Even still, he could sense the mage's emotions.

Red sighed and rubbed her face with her claws. “Training with Verist wears me out,” she deflected.

“Take the time we use to meditate to reflect on what you're learning,” he offered.

“It's not that easy,” Red replied, her voice starting to rise in that familiar, angry way. “I know she's helping me, she gave me a whole spellbook to memorize, but it feels wrong.”

The white-scaled kobold sighed and opened his eyes to look at her. “Why? Because you're accepting help from a human?”

“Yeah,” Red admitted, deflating the moment she did. “No, not just a human, because it's Verist of all of them.”

“Once we capture the country, maybe you can find a mage that isn't Verist to teach you how to burn humans,” Skyeyes suggested sardonically. “Until then, she's the best we have.”

The mage scoffed. “She'll probably be better than anyone we find out there anyway. I'm upset at how she acts.”

Skyeyes raised a brow. “Would you care to explain?”

Red sighed, “It's just … she does stuff like let me waste days and weeks practicing moving rocks and whatever, then she out of the blue mentions it would be better for fighting if I mastered these weird chants.”

“You're upset that she let you do what you wanted to do and come to a wall before giving advice?” he surmised. “Like how you had to assault Merdon before listening to me about your temper.”

The red-scaled kobold drew herself up, chest puffed, claw extended to point in accusation, but reality hit her and she popped instead. “Wow, is it that bad?” she muttered, looking at the floor.

“It's a problem that you have,” Skyeyes admitted, only sugar-coating it enough to sidestep a tantrum. “Verist is trying to help you, but she knows you won't ask for her advice until you've exhausted your own ideas first. You get these notions, Skravna, and you don't let go of them until you personally run every one of them down and leave yourself frustrated beyond sanity.”

She was quiet for a moment, processing that, before responding quietly, “But I've been working on it.” Her tone was unsure, almost a question.

“You have,” the priest admitted, moving closer and putting an arm around the mage. “But the others will need to see outward improvement for themselves before they can change how they approach you.”

“How?” Red's question was simple and direct. She wanted to change now.

“You start by clearing your mind, closing your eyes, and concentrating,” Skyeyes told her. “You focus on your actions, reflect on yourself, and try to remember how you were the next time something comes up, and then choose to be different.”

Red exhaled and closed her eyes again, the priest next to her doing the same. They sat in silence for several minutes as Red tried to follow that advice. She reflected on how she had acted, how her emotions had controlled her. It was embarrassing to admit, yet that was the first step in her moving on. After some time and thought, something occurred to the mage which made her open her eyes and glance at Skyeyes.

The white-scaled kobold almost looked asleep. He was perfectly calm and deep in his own mind, a state Red still struggled to reach. Everything felt amplified when she settled down, from the hard floor to the little ambient noises like folks passing in the hallway or a nearby candle wick burning. Skyeyes, however, seemed to tune it all out without difficulty. His meditative state was honed and professional. Which only raised her question higher.

“Skyeyes?” she asked gently, “Does this help you? Having a clear mind and all that stuff?”

The priest nodded, without opening his eyes. “My loss of power after our journey through Ardmach was due to internal strife over my faith. My power comes from my own belief and that of the goddess. Shaken as I was, there was no power to draw on. It was only when I settled down that I was able to help Merdon. Acuity is important for me, and many mages.”

Red nodded, though her partner couldn't see that. It was mostly a gesture for herself. If he could manage to meditate through his problems of faith, after everything he'd told her about what happened in the cathedral, she could certainly match him. It was just sitting still and clearing out her mind. That couldn't be so hard to master.

Across the tower, Verist was spending some time attempting to butter up the green-scaled Thickhide. Her scrying orb would alert her to any suspicious movements in the location she had it watching, making the job entirely autonomous and freeing up her time better spent elsewhere. Like watching the kobold knight as he trained on his own. He followed the instructions Merdon had given well, but with the lack of fluidity the adventurer had. That sort of flow that came with being a seasoned fighter. Thickhide was going through the motions without knowing why he did them, without purpose or thought beyond training. He started slowly, attempting to perfect the little things, and then repeated them faster. Nothing was fancy or over-the-top. The kobold was focused on the basics of defending himself and defeating others. An art that was difficult to practice alone, if not downright impossible.

Verist found his dedication to be admirable. In a similar sense, she felt that about Merdon as well, but less strongly. Merdon had been a honed fighter his entire life, from birth to his chosen profession, the human was a warrior. Thickhide, however, had explicitly picked this path for himself. With no prior training or knowledge, the kobold had decided he wanted to fight, to improve himself beyond the life he knew as a servant. In a way, it reminded the witch of herself. Though she wouldn't admit that so openly, not even internally. It was the struggle, she decided, that made Thickhide's training more enticing to watch. Merdon's movements were with purpose, direction, intent. The human knew what each move he practiced was for and he moved in those exact ways. He bent his knees when pretending to block, imitating the weight of the strike, varying its heft and his bend to match. Thickhide simply held up his shield before proceeding to the next part of the act. One of them would be more prepared than the other, their life more uncertain, and Verist found that more valuable to pay attention to.

When Thickhide finished, taking his helm off and wiping his brow with a claw, the witch approached as if on air. Her shoes never seemed to make a sound on the stone floor of the tower. At least, they didn't when she was focused. Like a wolf stalking its prey, she came up to the kobold's side and smiled. “Finished?”

Thickhide jumped sideways and held his sword a little tighter before his brain registered the sights and sounds of the witch. “Oh, Verist, yes,” he said quickly.

The witch chuckled at the reaction. “You're more like Merdon every day, you know?” she teased and complimented him at once.

He blushed and looked at his blade, still held fast in his claw. “It's nice of you to say so.”

“You don't believe it?” she asked with a smile. “The way you fought the slavers, saved those kobolds on the beach, and now you're training more.”

Thickhide nodded, but told her, “I'm far from as practiced as he is. I can see it when we spar.”

“That will come in time,” she assured him. Then, changing the subject, she pondered, “I wonder what his relationship with the blue kobold is like.”

“They are very close,” the green one said earnestly.

“Yes,” Verist said slowly, “But, I mean in a more intimate sense. Relationships between kobolds as a whole are rather undocumented, let alone them and other races.”

The knightly kobold shuffled his feet nervously and admitted, “I wouldn't know about any of that. I didn't really get a chance to before...” He was enslaved. Thickhide had been a human captive for most of his life.

As much as Verist felt sorrow for his admission, it also prompted her to move closer. “Perhaps we can find out,” she flirted.

Thickhide, however, considered, “Maybe you should ask Skyeyes. I don't think he's ever been a slave.”

Verist was torn between groaning and slapping the green one into some sense. “I didn't quite mean it like that,” the witch replied, a touch stern.

“Sorry,” the green kobold apologized, shifting in his armor, trying to settle a feeling he couldn't place. “I'm a little nervous about this,” he told her. “You're going to find these bad guys, right?”

Verist nodded. She was on their trail. Something was sure to turn up any day.

“When you do, we have to go fight them.” He looked at the floor as he spoke, his claw gripped around his sword hilt. “That man, the one that attacked us, broke Quickclaw's arm.” The leader of the Eyes.

“We'll deal with him,” Verist told the kobold with a smile. “You saw how I ran him off.”

Thickhide nodded, but argued, “He wasn't ready for you. In his own fortress, he might be.” The armored kobold exhaled sharply, gathering what nerves he had left, looked Verist in the face, and told her, “If something happens, I'll keep you safe.” A weight was crushing his chest even as he spoke, and it didn't remove itself as Verist blinked and leaned back, stupified.

She had been flirting, yes, but Thickhide's remark was far from what she had in mind. The way the little green lizard stood in his polished steel armor, blade in hand, trying to keep the nerves from showing on his face, and failing, it was downright adorable. As if compelled, she reached out and stroked the top of his head. It was impossible not to, and the green-scaled kobold only blushed in response.

“Thank you,” Verist said, as honestly as a witch like her could manage. “Hopefully we won't need it.”

Thickhide nodded in agreement with that desire. He didn't want anything to put them in danger, even though they all knew what they were coming up against. There was no avoiding the bloodshed and consequences of their rebellion. It would be a long time before any of them could be safe.