When he returned to the kitchen twenty minutes later, Nigel was still searing off short rib. The rich meaty smell, usually so delicious, almost caused him to gag.

Ethan went to the dish sink and soaked a cloth towel with some water. The refreshing cool water made him feel slightly better as he washed his face.

“Are you alright, Chef?” Nigel asked, looking at him from in front of the sizzling stove top.

“Yeah, just a rough night,” Ethan said, walking over to him. “Good sear on all these, Nigel.” He said after examining the pans full of brown and pink meat.

“Thank you, Chef,” Nigel beamed at the compliment. As bad as Ethan felt emotionally, he had made sure to never take it out on the young man working with him. He’d had too many Chefs treat him badly, just because they could and he’d worked hard to never be that kind of Chef. It hadn’t always worked. “Jerry was in here a minute ago, he was asking about you.”

“Right on,” Ethan nodded, and rebuttoned his jacket. “Let me know if you need help getting those in the ovens.” He pushed on the swinging door that led to the common room of the tavern.

Ethan paused only to pick up a clay mug and fill it with beer from one of the taps before walking around the bar to where Jerry was seated, talking to one of his other employees.

“Morning, boss,” Ethan greeted the Innkeeper as he sat down and took a sip of the dark beer. He’d finally gotten used to the strong drinks that Jerry brewed, he didn’t even wince anymore.

“Morning, Chef!” Jerry said loudly, in his usual morning greeting. “You look like shit!”

“Yeah,” Jerry’s booming voice caused his head to pound. “Rough night.”

“Real rough,” His boss nodded, “so rough you forgot today was supposed to be your day off.”

“Was it?” Ethan took another sip of his beer, “Sorry, I’ll take tomorrow off.”

“No,” Jerry furrowed his brows and shook his massive bearded head. “You have been working for nearly two weeks straight. You need rest.”

“C’mon Jerry,” Ethan pleaded, “I just put short ribs in the oven.” He hoped the bribe of Jerry’s favorite meal would be enough to convince him to let him stay at work.

Ethan had hated the few days he’d been forced to rest since he’d gotten to Grassmere. The zone was too low in level for any combat to be more interesting than a one hit kill and he didn’t really know anyone in the town. Leaving him with the only option to stay in his room, alone with his thoughts.

“No,” Jerry shook his head firmly, “you’re working yourself too hard. You need to take the day and rest. I’m not budging on this one.”

“What about-“

“Nigel can handle whatever you need for the rest of the day,” he jerked his head back in the direction of the kitchen. “He’s done the short rib several times already.”

“But tomorrow I’ve got porchetta!” He protested, “Nigel can’t do that one!”

“Walk him through what you need,” Jerry said, “and then get the hell out of here!” He pointed with his thumb to the door of the inn.

“Fine,” Ethan relented, grabbing his beer and headed back to the kitchen.

“I’m adding that one to your tab!” Jerry called after him with a laugh.

Ethan turned and lifted his mug in a sarcastic salute as he pushed on the swinging door with his back.

“Something wrong, Chef?” Nigel asked as Ethan stormed back into the kitchen.

“Yeah,” Ethan said, removing his apron once again, “the boss’s forcing me to take the day off.”

“What about the pork belly?” Nigel looked panicked as he glanced at the trussed bellies currently sitting in pans full of melted lard.

“Before you leave tonight, turn the oven down low and throw them in.” Ethan shook his head wearily, unbuttoning his jacket. “You know what, fuck it, I’ll probably be in the bar by then, just come talk to me.”

“Heard, Chef,” Nigel answered, “what about lunch?”

“Use the left over venison bacon with some tomatoes to make sandwiches,” he said, already walking towards the door. “You’ll be fine. I trust you.”

“Thank you, Ethan!” He heard Nigel call as the door swung behind him.

Jerry lifted his own mug of beer in a wave as Ethan walked by him. Ethan merely nodded in response as he left the inn.

Now what? Ethan wondered as he stepped into the bright sunlight.

Children were playing in the streets and he could see people running back and forth across the wide lane. Most of them were wearing battered armored and carried weak looking weapons. Players, fresh from a respawn completing their starting zone quests.

I hope I don’t run into… whatever her name was. He thought grimly to himself as he tried to avoid the gaze of any of the players.

He meandered idly through the town, not going anywhere in particular, and not enjoying the pleasant, if overcast day. Since he’d returned to Grassmere, he’d thrown himself into the kitchen work, he interacted only really with the few bartenders that worked there, Jerry, Mihal and Nigel. There was only one place, other than the inn, that he’d gone regularly, but this didn’t seem like the time to go there.

An hour later, the clouds had gotten heavier and Ethan gave up on wandering around the city.

“Screw it,” he kicked a small rock in his path, it slipped a few feet across the lane in front of him. “May as well get this over with.”

He trudged down the dirt path leading out of the town, small drops of rain began to fall haphazardly as he walked. The children playing were quickly called back inside, shopkeepers began rolling their goods under canvas awnings to protect them from the rain. Only the players still in town continued running around, a little bit of rain wasn’t going to hold them back.

“Out for a stroll, Chef?” Mihal called to him with a wave as Ethan passed through the South Gate. A dark blue poncho covered his standard issue guard armor. “Stay dry!”

Ethan waved in acknowledgement but didn’t say anything as he walked by.

The guard and the innkeeper were very lovingly married, Ethan had discovered it by accident by asking a simple question that led to a bonus quest. The reward had been an ugly necklace made from the teeth of the wolves Ethan had slain to gain entry to the town. When he’d left Startesgarde, he’d thrown the necklace away. It reminded him of Alera.

When he’d played through the first time he’d come to this version of Grassmere, after a total party kill on a scouting mission caused by Daniel, Mihal had been awkwardly hostile to him. Jerry had told him it was because Ethan walked around without a shirt on, causing Mihal’s insecurities over his lack of nipples to flare out of control.

Now, Mihal always treated him with respect and kindness. Ethan’s first impression of the man, low level artificial intelligence with a bad personality, was completely wrong. Mihal was a sweet and caring man who loved his husband very much, even if he had terrible taste in jewelry.

The rain began to fall in earnest as he walked past the South Gate. He didn’t go far before turning a sharp right. Technically, he hadn’t left the borders of Grassmere.

After he’d returned, he’d made the decision that he needed a place where he could meditate and connect with the Vættir. He had constructed a small shrine created from rocks that he’d brought from different areas of the Planes of Aranor that contained aspects of the elemental spirits. The four stones sat in a circle, one at each cardinal point

A small brown rock, worn smooth from the rush of water had come from a stream. Ethan had painted the symbol of the Spirit of Water on it. He knelt in front of it and touched it gently.

Vewa, please, I need your comfort and aid. I’m so lost. He begged in silent prayer.

Above him, the wind shifted and the rain blew in another direction. If he’d been hopeful, he would have taken this as a sign that Vewa was at least listening, but he’d learned in the last few weeks, that wasn’t the answer.

At first, when he’d returned to Grassmere, he hadn’t been able to keep the voices of all the Vættir out of his head. A month before he left Startesgarde, the four elemental Vættir, along with Ve, the Spirit of Life, had summoned his spirit to the Hearg of Life far away outside of Skaro. They’d assured him they were there to help him, to keep him strong and steady.

One night, a few days after arriving in Grassmere, he’d been especially drunk, and in the middle of Vewa attempting to comfort him, he’d snapped at the Vættr of Water.

“Why don’t you actually do something to help, then?” He’d yelled at the Spirit, drawing looks from the crowded tavern as he shouted to himself. “Your words just sound like a fortune cookie! Platitudes meant to comfort, but mean nothing!”

Since then, Vewa’s voice had been silent in his head.

“Bríse, please,” he turned and bowed his head low before the grey stone he’d taken from the foot of a lone tree in the middle of the planes. “I am in need of guidance. Help me, please!”

The wind picked up around him, the rain returned, the cold drops stinging as it pelted his skin. It wasn’t the answer he wanted, but it wasn’t the same absolute dejection as Vewa had given him.

“Grenat,” he shifted again, tears beginning to mix with the rain water running down his face. The stone he’d chosen for the Earth Vættr had come from the cavern he’d slain Ggoorgolax in months ago, it was the conular broken tip of a stalagmite.

“Please,” he sobbed, “I can’t do this.”

He received not even the slightest rumble of the ground beneath his knees as a response.

“You know they’re not coming, right?” Reás’ voice crackled in his mind. For the first time ever, it didn’t have its usual playful tone. To Ethan, it sounded sad.

He turned around toward the stone he’d removed from the smoking shed he’d built. Even through rain and wind, soot remained caked to it. The only actual stone visible was where he’d etched the rune of Fire into it.

The small, black, fox form of Reás, the Vættr of Fire, sat on the stone. Rain drops sizzled as they landed in the dark fur of the spirit, a trail of smoke rose from the tip of its tail.

“But you still do,” Ethan said hopefully, wiping rain and tears from his face.

“Yes,” the fox spirit nodded it’s head, “I am part of you, I can never leave you.”

“And the rest of them?”

“That’s for them to decide,” Reás looked down at the ground.

“So they will return?” He pleaded, fresh tears forming in his eyes.

“Again, that’s for them to decide,” the fox stared at him with its glowing blue embers of eyes.

“How?” Ethan tried to hold back the desperation in his voice as he begged again.

“The same way you met them in the first place,” Reás answered him simply.

“Ha!” Ethan let out a laugh. “I can do that!” He felt slightly better. He’d accomplished the feat of communing with the elements before, he could easily do it again.

“Can you?” Reás frowned it’s fox like face, pulling its whiskers back and furrowing its brow. “Are you sure?”

“Yes!” He practically shouted at the Vættr of Fire.

“Think back to how you did it before,” it said, “are you the same now, as you were then?”

Ethan slumped forward, his hope evaporated faster than the rain drops falling onto the Spirit of Fire.

“No,” he shook his head “I feel so…”

“Lost?” Reás finished for him. “Ve certainly thinks so.”

That hurt him more than the abandonment of the other Vættir. Ve, the Spirit of Life, loved unconditionally. To know that she was worried about him did nothing to ease his pain.

“Ethan,” Reás stepped off the stone and placed its paw on his hand. He had never heard any of the Vættir use his name before. “Passion isn’t the only spark inside of you, I just hope you find the other, before you fall so far that even my flames can’t help you.”

Thunder boomed over his head as lightning lit up the dark, rainy sky. And in that instant, Reás vanished, leaving Ethan soaked, and sobbing in his makeshift Hearg.