“Please! You must help. You must! Josie is dying!” Declared a panic-stricken man racing towards the mage, Jack’s father quickly intervening before tragedy occurred, this night of all nights not a good one to beg for favors in a panic.

“Calm yourself, Hugo. Explain what this is about,” Jack’s father said, grasping the man’s shoulders, making it clear to the scowling mage, crackling magics quickly dispelled, that this sobbing man was no threat.

“It’s Josie. She went into labor early and she’s lost a lot of blood. It’s a breach birth and the healer’s doing all she can to save them both, but she needs help!” The desperate man knelt and wept before the mage. “Please, honored sir. If you have any healing arts at all at your disposal, Wise Woman Katie would be grateful for your aid!”

The mage pursed his lips before slowly shaking his head. “I am sorry, Goodman Hugo, but healing magics are utterly beyond my purview.”

The man paled, lowering his head. “Katie had feared as much,” the man whispered, “but we had so hoped...”

Jack’s father patted the man’s shoulder sympathetically, helping him to his feet. “I can only imagine how you feel, Hugo. Our hearts go out to you.”

The broken man sobbed and shook his head. “Then we are lost. My Josie is lost!”

The mage looked more than uncomfortable. “I will now do my part for the town. My condolences, goodman Hugo,” he said, quickly slipping into the shadows.

Jack stared at the man, recalling in such brilliant detail all that he had seen and done that day. He forced himself to speak, compelled by sympathy for the man, explaining that perhaps not all hope was lost. Yet when he saw the desperate look of hope in Hugo’s eyes, he felt nothing but cold dread.

“Heaven’s mercy! You learned how to craft a healing potion in a single day? A miracle. A miracle! The fates must have meant for you to come to us in our time of need. Thank you, Jack. Thank you!”

The sobbing man hugged a startled Jack before grabbing his hand like he would a child. “Come, it’s this way, Jack. This way!”

And almost too soon they were before an innocuous enough looking cottage that Jack suddenly dreaded entering, though he could not say why.

Perhaps it was the sight of the young woman, not a day over twenty, crying out as she desperately pushed, or the healer’s grave eyes, pleading with the girl to pace herself, her gaze already seeing the girl’s death.

Or perhaps it was the countless violent deaths suddenly flashing before Jack’s eyes.

The unspeakable weight of so many souls crying out to Jack before fading away to death’s embrace, in god only knew how many lives he had lived before.

Jack blinked, finding himself on his knees, so dizzy he could barely stand.

“Why are you two here? This is private!” Snapped the healer as the sobbing Hugo did his best to explain after bringing them through the cottage proper to this back room that looked an odd cross between a bedroom and a medieval laboratory with basins of hot water, lye soap, steaming towels, and silver trays covered in primitive looking instruments.

“Jack? Jack!” His father’s urgent voice. “Perhaps this isn’t the best place for you, son. Come. Let us leave.”

Jack swallowed, choking back bile.

Forcing himself to look into the delirious eyes of the sobbing young woman. Already knowing what had to be done.

As if he had seen it a dozen times before.

He caught the healer’s eyes, widening at whatever she saw in his own.

“Can you turn the baby?” Jack said, stepping forward, rolling his sleeves as far up as he could before dipping his hands into a basin of still hot water, scrubbing his hands with a lye based soap he just knew to reach for, rinsing it off in the basin beside it.

The healer blinked, before shaking her head. “It’s too late for that, Jack Evergreen. I fear there’s only one option left to us, if we’re to have any hope of saving the baby, at least.”

Jack nodded “Caesarian section. Or whatever you call it, in this time and place.”

The healer swallowed. “I can do it. But I’ve exhausted most of my healing magics just keeping the pair alive this long. The odds of the mother’s survival...”

Jack pulled out all of his potions, carefully placing them on one of the silver trays.

“Potions for healing, curing poisons, and disease. This vial is specifically for fever, so should help with post operative recovery. And this crimson healing flask is a bit… boosted. And if blood loss is the issue, it will probably work best of all.”

The healer flashed a tight-lipped smile. “Good. I take it your mother taught you some of her art, after all.”

Jack blinked, having no response to that as she shooed the other men out of the room. “Alright, Jack, whether your ready or not, I’m going to need your help. I’m going to cut her open, to pull out the baby. You’re going to administer those potions so attuned to your blood when and where I tell you to. Understood?”

Jack paled, wondering how the girl had deduced what she had so quickly. And what was this about his mother? Only then did he notice the healers assistant holding the young delirious woman with powerful arms after dosing her with some tincture of poppy.

“Understood,” he said as the next hour sped by in the blink of an eye that seemed to stretch forever, Jack pouring dribbles of his potion when and where instructed, seeing far more of life in its most primal state than he had ever intended, both horrified by all the blood and pain witnessed, and awed by the cries of a healthy newborn baby.

“Quick, John. Dribble that second healing potion down Josie's throat. Now!"

Jack swallowed, quickly doing just that, the healer giving a great sigh of relief.

“Well done,” she said endless minutes later, when she declared both mother and child stable.

Then, after a handful of minutes spent in quiet contemplation, Jack’s eyes widening when he caught the silver-white glow around her, she placed both her palms upon the young woman’s abdomen. Rough sutures and Jacks healing potion had failed to heal all of the damage, her hands taking on a silver white light and Jack could feel the flow of gentle magics flowing from the healer to her patient. Slowly, the wounds began to fade.

The healer gazed up at Jack, seeing something in his eyes. “You’re not coming back, are you?”

Wordlessly, Jack shook his head.

“Then let me show you a lesson that might come in handy. I warn you, there is a cost in pain. Are you ready?”

Jack nodded and before he could blink, a scalpel had sliced open his forearm. The wound was not deep. It was really the cleanest of cuts. And before Jack could do more than hiss, he was silenced with the healer’s glare. “Stop whimpering and listen!”

And listen he did. To the soft susurration of her melodious whispers, to the tonal ring of gentle silver-white magics enveloping his flesh, the cut healing as if it had never been.

“Now it’s your turn.”

Jack blinked. “You want me to cut you?”

She smirked. “Hardly,” she said, slashing him open a second time.

“Now it’s your turn.”

Jack swallowed, heart racing, putting his hands on the cut.

“Sana Injuriam,” he whispered, the words, different from the healer’s own, echoing through his skull. Words he recalled with painful, visceral clarity as he forced stubborn healing magics to embrace his flesh.

It wasn’t easy.

It was a downright struggle.

He sensed healing magics had always been a struggle for him. That he had the least affinity for this type of magic.

But with so many images of death flashing across his mind’s eye, visions of countless people he had once known and loved perishing to bandits, raiders, monsters, and disease over countless lifetimes, it was a spell etched into his very bones.

It would never come easy,

but it would always come at his call.

Congratulations! You have learned the spell Basic Healing at Novice Rank 1! This spell catalyzes your own magic into a stream of pure healing energy usable on yourself or any target you can touch. Standard healing rate is 1 Health point per 2 seconds. Injuries will slowly fade as health is recovered. Standard mana drain is 2 mana per Health point recovered! Your affinity with this spell is skill rank dependent.

You have FAILED to gain affinity with directly channeled healing magics!

Note! You have the Greater Flaw: Painful Healing Magics! Due to some quirk in the nature of your soul, healing magics can only be cast with great difficulty! It costs you twice the normal amount of mana drain to cast healing spells and you will be at -2 to all non-healing skill checks for 1 hour afterwards, as a result of Haunting Visions and Phantom Pain! Perhaps you were cursed in a previous life? Did this one spell not resonate so strongly within your soul, you would be unable to cast healing spells at all!

The healer was gazing at him with a look somewhere between horror and wonder.

“That caused you actual pain to cast. Your mana channels aren’t suited for the healing arts. You taste of the elements. Of the forest... and something darker still. Yet I can sense how that healing spell exhausts you. You shouldn’t be able to cast it at all. Not ever. We’re you my assistant…” her smile was almost apologetic. “I’d relegate you to the role of apothecary, and no more than that. For of a certain, your curative potions saved that girl's life, and perhaps her little boy as well.”

Eyes of green and gold peered intently into his own. “But you didn’t spend a hundred hours hammering a spell you had no affinity for into your brain, as the most diligent of Elementalists have been known to do, just to prove that they could. Master elementalists, who are incredibly scholarly with dozens of spells at their command. You cast it only once. And for all that you suffer for it, that spell comes at your beck and call like an unruly hound who knows his master still.”

Jack just stared at the intent-looking healer, having no idea what to say.

The healer flashed a sympathetic smile, handing Jack a snifter of spirits, downing her own with a single gulp and shudder. “I’m not saying it does our livers any good, but it does take the edge off a bad, rough night,” she said, her voice weary with care, for all that she looked only a handful of years older than Jack did himself.

Jack smiled, raising his in toast, though doing little more than smelling the pungent spirits.

He knew he needed a head clear and cold and sharp as steel, knowing his night was still far from over.

As much as he desperately hoped to forget the visions of so many loved ones, dying in his arms a lifetime ago.

“At least we were able to save her,” he said, blinking away the sudden hot sting in his eyes.

Katie nodded. “That we did, thanks to you.” She tilted her head curiously. “But isn’t tonight supposedly in your and Carl's honor? The both of you coming into your manhood just in time for the caravan to take you away for a season or a lifetime, if the town’s wards fail to see you as one of our own.”

Jack nodded, recalling his acquaintance who had always had a knack for trade, his own birthday celebration delayed for this very day. “That’s right, though Carl turned 18 last month.”

She nodded. “And I have no doubt he’s had a wonderful time of it, chatting with all the traders from the towns nearby. I hear even a city trader made it here this year, so intently do they value your mother’s tapestries.”

Jack shrugged. “I don’t know anything about that, but her work is worth every penny they pay for it,” Jack said, though he couldn’t help but smile in pride at the thought of his mother’s accomplishments, feeling sudden sharp pang of regret in not having seen her, or his sisters, all day.

Soft hands collected his potions before placing them within a felt lined pouch she then passed on to him. “For any future potions you might make or discover on your journeys. It would be a shame were they to break. The enchantments within this pouch should help keep them safe.”

“Thank you,” he said. “Are you sure? That pouch looks, well...”

“Handmade and expensive?” the girl chuckled. Her features were on the plainer side, especially when she wore the intent mask of a focused healer. But her brilliant gold-green eyes and expressive full-lipped smile was captivating to behold when she laughed or grinned. “It was. A remnant from my adventuring days, back when I was foolish enough to believe in noble quests and glory. It used to hold the healing potions our party would acquire, long since run out.” She sighed and shook her head.

“Unfortunately, I have no real knack for Druidic magics or natural alchemy. Hence, why I was hoping Magus Silvercest could assist me, since my assistant couldn’t hope to find Eltier in his woods even in broad daylight, let alone deepest night. And I don’t think the latter would have been safe, in any case.”

“Natural Alchemy?”

Katie nodded. “Alchemy that taps into the natural properties, mostly healing, to be found in plants and some animal organs. Normally the province of Druids, though skilled alchemists across all disciplines do their utmost to incorporate healing potions of one sort or another into their craft. Arcane or Elemental alchemy is the province of wizards, where potions are used to achieve various supernatural effects, like levitating, flying, enhanced strength or speed, enchanted skin, water breathing, floating through walls, turning into dragons, that sort of thing.” She grinned. “Though admittedly those are just from the tales I once adored as a young girl, before I realized just how brutal and dangerous the world was, and that I could do far more good helping a community that appreciated me than risking my life adventuring with a pack of fools determined to get themselves killed, no matter what I did.”

Jack met the healer’s intent gaze, felt his cheeks flush, and came to a decision.

“Here,” he said, handing her all but a pair of healing potions. “You keep these. For the next girl giving a breach birth, or patient with a septic infection. I can always make more later.”

Of course he knew he was grossly understating the difficulty of finding fresh batches of the magical flowers that he just knew, along with his Fecund Growth spell, would have guaranteed his fortunes as an alchemist. Still, he was grateful to at least have a complete collection of all the seeds he would need to grow the more mundane ingredients of his restoration potions.

Katie tilted her head, favoring him with her frank, appraising gaze. “You’re a good man, Jack Evergreen. The girl who wins your heart will be a very lucky girl indeed.”

And before he could say a word she grabbed his snifter and slung it back before gently shooing him out the birthing room. “Best you head home, Jack. You have an early day, tomorrow.”

And almost before he knew it, he and his father were out the door, the grateful sobs of Hugo the last thing they heard as the healer softly closed the door behind them.

His father turned to Jack, so much said in his gaze.

“I’m proud of you, son. Come. It’s been a long night, and best we head home. I know your mother’s staying up, not having had a chance to properly greet you this day.”

Jack flushed, wracked with sudden guilt. But he knew his day wasn’t done yet.

“Dad? Before we head home, I need to check the trade caravans.”

His father frowned. “It’s late, son, and we’ve already done a thorough inspection. Now come home. You’ve delayed saying goodbyes to your mother long enough. Too long already.”

Jack lowered his head, unable to bear his father’s reproving gaze, but held his ground. “I’m sorry, dad. It’s really important. Trust me.”

His father said not a word, just giving an angry shake of his head as they walked to the town center at a fast clip, Jack hating the sudden tension between them.

“Dad...”

“Just do what you have to do, Jack. I’ll wait here.”

Jack winced at his father’s tone, but took the words at face value, quickly striding into the heart of canvas stretched high above the buildings that comprised the village center. And how odd it was to find that the town he knew so well also looked nearly identical to the renaissance fares he would attend with his friends every summer, a lifetime ago.

Only this week the village square was an impromptu market, numerous stalls now closed that had been lively and bustling just hours before. Jack could how numerous trade stands had been put together at the rears of so many wagons, clever carpentry allowing for storefront, storage, and a place to sleep all in one, though only a few traders were open at this hour, pouring flasks of mead or stronger drink for themselves and the tired-looking town guard.

Jack smiled and shook his head when one trader-bartender raised an inquiring flask his way. The man shrugged before taking a sip of his own drink, and Jack was relieved. At least he didn’t look suspicious. But even at that hour, a number of night-owls were about the maze of trader wagons, and there was absolutely nothing he could do that would go completely unnoticed.

He clenched his dagger hilt in frustration, mind flashing back to how hard it had been to even get a close look at the goblins. As to how had he spotted the green blurs in the first place? Even that had been odd, as if their obfuscation had almost been a pressure upon the otherwise boring landscape of his surroundings, at least in his mind’s eye.

And that pressure had been all he had needed to look up and spot death taking a bead, adrenaline and distance allowing him to pierce what had, after all, been a relatively weak veil.

Struck by sudden inspiration, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to sense any subtle pressure pushing against his mind’s eye before finally calling it a night and heading back to his father.

The still powerfully built former mercenary raised a curious brow, though he couldn’t hide his impatience.

“It’s okay, dad. At least I gave it a shot. Come on. Let’s go home.”

His father nodded. “It’s about time, son. And I think you owe your mother an apology.”

Jack flushed as they made their way back home, dreading the look of condemnation he expected to see in his mother’s eyes.

“Dad...”

“I understand. You did what you felt you had to. Just know that all things come with a cost. Even the best of intentions, Jack, require an apology if your actions hurt someone who cares about you.”

And when he saw the house lanterns still lit as they approached the farm, the air alive with the scents of wildflowers and the sharp tang of lush green grass, Jack’s heart swelled with bittersweet nostalgia.

The moment he dreaded arrived, the front door opening, his mother’s eyes meeting his home.

Yet despite the pain he sensed within, there was no condemnation in her gaze. Just a heartfelt cry as she sobbed and held Jack close, he himself forced to bite back the hot stinging in his eyes as he held his mother close. The most beautiful woman he had ever known.

“I am sorry, Mom,” he choked out at last. “I’m sorry.”

She sighed and nodded, putting on a brave smile. “Well, let’s get some food in you, Jack. We’ll forget the hour, just this once. I want to hear all about your last day.”

Jack swallowed and nodded. “Where’s Janice? I wanted to say, well...”

And here her mother’s gaze hardened. “She took a fever earlier today, Jack, so excited for the fare, so distraught, having missed you. Exhausting herself with worry after pushing herself for so many days, wondering where you had gone.”

“Oh no,” Jack said, filled with sudden worry and sharp regret.

“I checked on her less than an hour ago. She’ll be fine, but she had been busy all week, as you well know, and exhaustion took its tole. And when a sick person rests that deep, the greatest mercy you can give is to leave them undisturbed.”

Jack lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

His mother nodded. “I’ll tell her you regret not seeing her on the morrow. At least she knows she has a place in your heart. Now tell me your tale, Jack. Let me at least savor your final day alongside you.”

And Jack did just that, at first hesitant, struck as he was by guilt at having neglected his family so thoroughly that day. Yet soon that reluctance turned to an enthusiastic recounting, regaling his mother with lessons by his father’s side, the joy of learning to walk quietly through the woods in search of prey, the jolt of terror he had felt, almost becoming the prey in turn, and the fierce satisfaction he had felt when he and Father put down the dire threat to their town

His mother, much to his relief, seemed as excited as he had been, applauding his accomplishments and cheering on his victories while feeding him hearty beef stew. And how her eyes had grown wide when he regaled her with his understanding of and near instant mastery of the Obscuro rune the goblin had been bound with. Her soft brown eyes widened when he explained his sudden odd insight, infusing a rune with his very own lifeblood, eager to show off his dagger hilt to his mother, who looked speechless with wonder for the first time he recalled seeing in his life.

And the smile of approval she flashed him warmed the last bit of guilt free of his heart.

“Remarkable, my son. Truly remarkable.”

“And that’s not all!” Jack said, pulling out his now empty potion flask satchel. “This was a gift from the healer. I sort of, well, gave her all my healing potions, since she needs them far more than me. But the point is, I can make healing potions! Natural Alchemy she called it, though Eltier just called it common sense. Which is different from Arcane alchemy. Apparently, a proper wizard can make potions that will transform him into a floating dragon that can walk through walls.”

His mother laughed at that. “Hardly, son. Very few mages have any skill or interest in alchemy at all, and a potion like that would be worthy of a king’s boon, odd a potion as it would be. Now continue your tale. Did you truly learn magic at Eltier’s feet?”

Jack grinned. “I did indeed. Let me show you!”

Whispering a few syllables and savoring the sweet rush of magic flowing through him that he gently coaxed into the shape and memory of the first and only creature he had ever encountered in Regio, a docile bee over a foot long suddenly manifested, much to his mother’s awe and delight.

“To think, the gifts of druids swirl in our bloodlines as well.”

“And that’s not all,” Jack said with a grin, summoning both a 3-foot diameter shield of perfectly translucent ice, and a cuirass of stone.

His mother’s eyes widened, her voice trembling with a strange inflection that sent shivers racing down his spine.

“Runic lore and alchemical arts, spells of nature and the elements as well. Learning how to shoot your bow so well by your father’s side that the pair of you took out a quartet of enemy scouts. Seasons worth of training and talents you never showed the slightest inclination for before… all mastered in a single day.”

Jack solemnly nodded, his mother bursting into tears and holding him close.

“I’m sorry, mother. So sorry I didn’t spend any time with you. But there was so much to learn, and so little time. And somehow I just knew that what I learned today, whatever strange, half-forgotten affinities I might unlock, I would never get a second chance to do so again. At least, not like today.”

His mother nodded, wiping away her tears. “As much as it pains my heart to admit it, you’re right, Jack. More right than you know.” Intent blue eyes peered into his own. “You said you had stopped by Katie’s house as well?”

Jack tried to suppress a shudder, but his mother’s gaze instantly picked it up.

“Jack?”

“Yes, Mother?”

“You didn’t try and use healing magics… did you?”

But the look in Jack’s eyes was enough.

“Oh, no. Oh, Jack, I’m so sorry. So very, very sorry.”

Jack swallowed. “It worked. I could use it. Though it was so hard, so damned hard, and using it...” he shuddered. “It’s like the ghost of everyone I’ve ever known and loved who died in my arms flooded through me, for all that I recognized not a single one of those faces!”

His mother worldlessly held him as he sobbed out tears for griefs forgotten long ago, burdens of the soul only time and renewal had eased away. Yet now he was struck by grief anew, as if the barriers of his soul, once so strong and tall, yet cracking under the strain of his final day home, had come tumbling down the moment he dared embrace a healer’s arts.

His mother sighed, stroking his brow. “There are reasons why I was always so lenient, Jack. Never pushing you, allowing you to spend your days reading from my library, dreaming up those tales you’d regale us with every night by the fireplace."

Her husband furrowed his brow. “That’s right,” he said. “We did try to apprentice him to Lucius, once upon a time.”

“Indeed we did. A man with a past the town counsel was wise to ignore, having proven his worth to our community more than once with his skills. He always keeps his word, and is well versed as an elementalist and an enchanter, as you and I know better than most.”

She sighed, familiar hands tussling her son's hair, whispering soft words Jack knew would keep his locks exactly where they should be, not a strand out of place. The same blessing she had sung in his ears so many times since he was a small boy, as some secrets were best hidden in plain sight.

“His eyes had brightened, seeing such promise in you, Jack, once upon your time. Unlike your sisters, who showed no inclination for any art save, my own. Do you remember? You had been so excited at the thought of living out your favorite tales. But that day you screamed so loudly I could feel it on the ether, your eyes in a panic, racing for home as fast as you could.”

She tilted her head, expressive eyes searching his own.

“I knew better than to pry that night, but I always wondered what what scared you so. Was it something about Lucius himself? Or the arcane arts? Whenever I thought to bring it up, you would just give me the strangest look.” She flashed a bemused smile. "Much like the one you're giving me right now."

Jack gave a confused shrug. “Honestly, I have no idea. For all that my mind is a confused jumble of memories right now, I have absolutely no recollection of that day at all, or you ever asking about it, and Master Lucius didn't mention it either. He acted like we had never met before."

His mother nodded. “No doubt he was saving face for the both of you. And Jack? I think we both know what your experiences today signify.”

Jack lowered his head, swallowing back the lump in his throat. “That I won’t be coming back,” he whispered.

His mother said nothing to that, merely passing him a leather belt pouch covered with the most intricate stitching he had ever seen.

Arcane Perception skill check: Success!

It radiated a cold, dark aura, yet he sensed as well such a complex interweaving of magics as to leave him breathless, all the wild power and inconciebably deadly magics he sensed within masterfully channeled and contained.

He trembled with awe, just touching it, somehow sensing its potency.

“Mother? What is it?”

Her mother’s odd smile didn’t reach her eyes. “A pouch of holding, my son. An artifact of tremendous power, and not something you’ll find for sale at any guild. Very few could make use of it, only those with the strength to step in and out of Regio, for it is comprised of mundus, dream, and the souls of all those who once dared to cross me. Bound in stitches that will never break.”

Jack froze at those words, but his mother paid no heed, speaking on. “Best you mark the back with your clever little blood rune, my son, even if there is a cost. The ties of kinship between us will assure a strong binding, such that no rogue, thief, or royal agent would even think of removing that treasure from your person.”

“Mom?”

“Yes, Jack?”

“Are you also, well, a wizard?”

His mother sighed. “I have always been a weaver, Jack. And in the sanctuary of this wonderful little valley, that’s all I will ever be. But once I stitched and wove together things besides the most wondrous rugs and tapestries you will ever find, using fabrics other than wool or silk. A life I put aside the moment I accepted sanctuary within this valley.” She flashed a gentle smile. "Now the path we walk is a far gentler one, certain skills reserved only for those who would do us harm." Powerful fingers gently stroked his chin. "Not that I'm telling you anything you don't already know, in your heart of hearts."

Jack gazed up at his father, utterly still, at his mother’s side like a sentinel. So vital and full of life that, save for the grey in his hair, he could pass for a man many years younger than he was.

A deadly warrior still in his prime.

“And dad?”

“I think you already know the answer to that, son.”

Jack nodded, knowing better than to ask for details. The deadly aura his father was giving off was the only clue he needed.

“Did you really need my help with those goblins?”

His father smiled. “You made me proud with all you’ve learned today, son. And lessons learned in the crucible of combat are the best learned lessons of all.”

And much to Jack’s relief, they quickly flowed on to gentler topics, savoring all the warm memories they had shared of Jack growing up and blossoming into the man he was today.

The hour was late when he finally went to bed, having held his parents fiercely close, no longer troubled by the dark auras he now sensed from them, focused only on what mattered, the mother and father who had loved and supported him all his days.

Jack gazed into his mother’s peaceful blue eyes as she tucked him in and kissed his brow, wiping away a final tear. She hadn’t left his side from the moment he had come home. She had even insisted on bearing witness to his creations when he asked to borrow mortar and pestle, carefully making a fresh batch of potions fwith the very last of the Crimson Blossom leaves Eltier had let him leave with, perhaps knowing he would need them. And when she actually gave him pointers, including how to turn a toxic poison into one that would simply induce the deepest of sleeps, somehow it hadn’t phased him at all.

His pouch of holding now stored a dozen priceless crystal potion vials and a tome his mother had solemnly handed him, along with the armor and weapons he had practiced with his father so diligently that morning.

“Good night, my son.”

There was so much he still wanted to ask. “Thank you for always being there for me,” was all he said.

She flashed that gentle grin he had known all his life, cupping his cheek, conveying a lifetime’s worth of love with that single gesture as she stood up once more and left the room. He was still fully clothed, his most precious items secured upon his person, and somehow he knew that this was the last time he would ever see either of his parents.

He was desperate to catch sight of his mother’s smile one more time. To look in on his sleeping baby sister and at least wish her a happy life from afar. But those thoughts quickly fled before the onslaught of dreams eager to claim his soul.