Korath Ondolinde, the blue-skinned sun elf with impeccable fashion and messy white hair. A wink from him would send many into a fit of blushing giggles. And he was a figure far too complex for any quick dissection.

Amelia’s temporary ally twice over, a necromancer with immense power and a willingess to go beyond the pale at a moment’s notice. Not a person Amelia had ever imagined herself working with, because he proved the antithesis to her in so many ways.

High-class fashion, good manners. An outward warmth that exuded from his every word. But just underneath lay an ice-cold snowstorm of fury. A passion that froze landscapes, that decimated entire cities without a single thought of regret.

He did not treat Amelia with the respect of a valued comrade. He did not let that visage of courtesy and friendliness fade, not in any real way. Only by having seen the truth within him did she know the power he possessed, and tonight he refused to show it.

“I’ve decided to help you trust me more,” he said.

“I see.”

“Will you let me?”

“I feel like I don’t have a choice.

“Oh, Amelia. Always so dramatic.” They both stepped to the side to dodge a six-foot-tall orc child running through the street, chasing their younger sibling and laughing. Probably an adolescent, not yet realizing their own size for it would end their remaining childhood then and there. “I’m not a necromancer by choice, Amelia. It was forced on me by the hand of fate itself.”

“Mhm.”

He looked at her to smile, but then faced the other way to avoid eye contact. She continued scanning the crowd. “There was someone... A close friend of mine. A human by the name of Riles. I made a mistake, and he perished as a result. Now it’s been twenty-five years.”

“I’m sorry.” The only words of sympathy she could give.

“That was what I said. I apologized. Made amends with his family. Prayed and sought forgiveness from the divine. Honed myself to never make a mistake again. None of it took, because none of it brought Riles back. Now, all these years later, that’s my only goal. Reverse death at any cost. I’m not sure he’d even want it, but I can’t stop now.”

“So you’re a necromancer for him.”

“Yes.”

“Why? Just to ask him to forgive you?”

He took a breath sharper and louder than Amelia expected. His hand clutched around his tie, where his concealed necklace also rested. “You’re blessed to be half—human, Amelia. You can live a long life, and if you’re healthy, I imagine you’ll live a few centuries with ease. Elves don’t have that luxury. Our minds cannot keep up with the march of time, and I don’t have much time left. Riles didn’t leave behind much. No diary. No photographs. Nothing I can bring into the future with me once my memories obliterate into endless slurry. If I can’t bring him back...” He shook his head, laughing with the exact same sort of charmed lightness he used on the woodworking vendor. “Then I’m not a very good necromancer after all, am I?”

It was utterly honest. More vulnerable than Amelia had ever seen the man. And yet she could not bring herself to fully believe everything he said. He was one of the most twisted, evil individuals she had ever known, and this kind of openness had to have some ulterior motive behind it than trust.

And yet, somehow, she could not detect a lie in sight.

“I can’t condone your work,” Amelia said. “I can’t stand to even look at you. But.”

“But. You understand why I need these souls so badly. Why I will stop at nothing to achieve my goals.”

“I do. I need them too.”

Necromancy was the most blasphemous, disgusting work of depravity in all of magedom. The harvesting of glossal souls to fuel the experiments of those trying to defy death itself was something she could never even think of allowing. And yet she already had by not killing him in Berryward, or killing him here. Leading him to the souls he needed would only bring him closer to his goals. Sympathy or not, she had to prevent it.

But Amelia had no room to rebuke. She was the product of glossal souls and a departed glossal body. Her power gains lately had come almost entirely from powerful glossal souls. She did not choose to be created, but she chose to survive and thrive in a world where power meant domination at any costs. The hypocrisy in her existence shone with every glare she took at the sun elf beside her.

“And so,” he said, “if this Castien Brielwa can lead us to the reserves we need, then I will do anything in my power to help you here.”

“Good.”

“So then I ask, when we capture this Castien fellow, what will we do with him, exactly?”

Amelia looked down. “I’m no fan of torture.” She paused. “I don’t like it.”

“But this time is an exception. I see.”

“As soon as we learn about the souls that North Sunwell stores, he’s yours. Kill him, turn him into a zombie, whatever.” She grimaced as she said this. “I just need the information.”

“I got it, then.”

A ping on Amelia’s Scan Module. Myxo detected, it said.

Then with her eye she saw the shimmering blue form, tall in the vague shape of a human, standing at the side of a booth to some shoddy fortune teller. The fortune teller was conspicuously absent, though, with just a pulled-out empty chair and a dull crystal ball.

Korath greeted the myxo. “Howdy.”

“Greetings. Welcome to Farrah’s Fortunes. We’re closed now,” it said.

Korath held up a hand. “I’m here for the thing. We’re here, I mean.”

The myxo nodded, then moved behind the booth to the worn-down shack with a dim light shining through its window and a curtain instead of a door. “Step inside.”

Amelia and Korath exchanged glances.

This was it.

Beyond the door, their business meeting with the accountant within whose mind all Amelia’s answers lay. Souls were an added bonus if they had the opportunity. And as long as Korath did not know that, it was fine.

They pulled the curtain aside and entered the shack. It was larger than it seemed from the outside. Two rooms. A living room type area with cabinets and a sink and two sofas across from each other. Cream-colored, but stained in various suspicious colors that made Amelia feel blessed that her olfactory senses were still dampened. Peeling paint on the walls, and two silent orcish guards standing in leather armor in front of what Amelia assumed was supposed to be a bedroom, again with curtains instead of a door. There were stairs up to another floor, but they were blocked with the walls partially caved in. Whoever once lived in this house had not done so for a long time. And yet the lights were still on and the water still ran.

The myxo led them to the couch furthest from the entrance, right beside the bedroom entrance so they could not see who emerged.

They sat and stayed quiet, stayed calm. The myxo went into the bedroom and quietly murmured something. A quieting spell was cast and blocked all sound from the room. Several minutes passed.

Amelia would have begun to shudder from the pressure had she not prepared for this very thing. A meeting to trade money for glossal souls was always going to involve covert secrecy and mind games, especially when the stakes were as high as with someone like Castien. Suddenly, Ed’s paranoia about being tracked did not seem so extreme anymore.

Finally, a rustling sound, then the curtains shifted, and a figure stepped out.

Robes. Small glasses. Tied-back hair, bright skin and white eyes. Castien Brielwa it was.

He sat down on the sofa across from them and crossed one leg over the other. Got comfortable.

“So, let’s begin, shall we?” He held out the vortex amulet that Korath had given to the Seer as collateral. “This is yours?”

“Mine,” Korath said. “Not a gift, I’m afraid. I’d like it back once business has concluded.”

“Of course. Though it’s a tantalizing artifact, to be sure.” Then Castien eyed the other elf with bright curiosity. “My, you’re not what I expected. Very sharp. I guess this is a special occasion, after all.”

He put on his biggest smile once again. “Oh, no, don’t think anything of it. I always dress this way.”

“I’m a fan, I’m a fan,” Castien said. “Sorry. I’m not sure we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Castien Brielwa. I guess you’ve heard the name. And you are?”

“Korath Ondolinde,” he said. Amelia’s eye widened. Why the hell did he say his real name? “I’m a necromancer. New to town.”

“Ah, I see now. Trying to make your mark in the most dangerous place of all. Can’t say I recommend it, but you do you.” Castien flicked his eyes over to Amelia. “And this one here?”

“I...”

His eyes narrowed. His businessman smile twitched. “Say, haven’t we met somewhere?”