As Cerid began to sink into the usual throes of self-pity and torment, he was drawn back out by a much more different, equally pressing concern.

The girl glanced at Cerid, and her cheeks reddened before she put her hands over her eyes. “I don’t care who it is. Someone just dress him.”

Upon realizing that he was entirely unclothed and had mostly shrugged the heavy blanket that had been covering him off in his outburst, Cerid was overtaken by a distinct desire for the earth to swallow him whole. Still, he cleared his throat and tried to summon the dignity that had been instilled within him in accordance with the Creed name. “Thank you kindly, but I am capable of dressing myself.” He reached out for the clothes the possible demon with pointed teeth was holding.

“Good on that.” The articles were tossed at him, and the maybe-demon guided the other maybe-demon girl out while laughing at her all the while, as she stubbornly refused to lower her hands.

Cerid took another moment to marvel at the unreality of the whole situation before gathering himself. Clothes like the ones he’d gotten simply weren’t made in Sacerian territory; they would melt someone in the heat. Here, however, in the mountain cold, he was grateful for the abundance of lining. The only thing of his that he’d come with that was still there were his boots and sword, the latter of which he affixed on its proper place with its strap draped over his chest and the sheath on a diagonal from his back left shoulder towards his right hip.

“You should take that off,” the girl said mildly when he stepped outside to meet them.

“Take what off?” the other stranger asked. “Everything? Thea, you dog.”

“Quiet, you.” The girl scowled. “The sword. We’re in neutral territory. You don’t need it here, and it’ll certainly make you stick out. Well, more than you already will. We tend to notice newcomers in these parts.”

“I understand.” Cerid obeyed, resting his blade against the inside door frame.

The one with odd teeth smiled and stretched, hands coming to rest on the back of his neck. “So what brings you here?”

Cerid stared nervously at the razor grin before shaking himself off. “Erm, truth be told, I am looking for someone. Someone I…might need the help of. Well… As it were. You could say that I am searching for hope.”

One of his eyebrows shot up. “Sounds heavy, though you wouldn’t guess that from your tone. How can we help?”

Cerid stuttered a bit, surprised by the instant offer. “Er, well, I do not really know for sure, but—”

“Wait, wait.” The girl held a hand up. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves. Who are you? Are you a Sacerian or a Ghurian? Are there others coming?” She regarded him with open, though not hostile, suspicion.

This was more the attitude he had expected. “True, I am a Sacerian soldier, though not a very good one… That is beside the point.” He shook himself. “My name is Cerid Creed. I came alone while escaping an attack from Ghurians. My comrades were…” The Sirpoans’ faces flashed with pity at what his silence confirmed. “Anyhow. They died because of my incompetence, and, well…” Feeling utterly foolish, he made himself look at them squarely and declare, “I am looking for the Atlin family.”

The two shared a quick glance that betrayed everything Cerid needed to know. If they had laughed at him and called him a ridiculous dreamer or been clueless, he’d have been convinced there was nothing for him to find here; however, they had shown that small sign of panic instead. At least, he hoped he could trust that interpretation of their exchange.

“Are they here?” he pressed. “Please, I… I just want my fallen comrades to be revived. Nothing more.”

“Thea?” Sharp-Tooth said quietly, placing the burden on her.

She looked uncertain as she thought it out but gave Cerid a guarded and imperious gaze as a sign of a choice being made in the end. “My name is Dorothea Atlin,” she said. “I’m the last of the Atlin bloodline. And I don’t see why I should help you.”

Cerid’s body went cold anew. Really? Was that how it was going to end? He’d come this far and had such luck only to be made to return empty-handed? “But –” he protested weakly.

Dorothea interrupted with neither anger nor pity in her voice. “You can go back to Sacerian territory when you feel able to. All of your injuries were healed, so you could probably head out immediately and be just fine. I’m sorry about your comrades.”

Impotent rage fueled Cerid now. “How can you say that?! You, who know nothing of war, do not have the right to feel sorry for me! If you are truly so sorry for a single one of us, then you would act!”

“Oh, I know nothing of war, do I?” she snapped, eyes blazing while her voice turned to ice. “Your war, the one your people and the Ghurians started, took everything from me. I owe you nothing.”

“I just…!” Cerid trailed off as she turned sharply back inside and slammed the door shut after tossing his sword onto the porch. “How can she be so… so cruel!” he burst to no one in particular.

Still, he received a response from Sharp-Tooth. “It’s not that simple, you know?”

“It seems fairly clear to me,” Cerid muttered, bitterly taking out his guilt and frustration. “The question of cruelty.”

“The name’s Shark. They, them.”

Cerid looked blankly at a hand that was extended to him, caught off guard by the sudden change in both subject and the pronouns he needed to think with now. “What?”

“Now you know who I am, so hopefully you can trust me a bit. Give me until tomorrow morning. I’ll talk to Thea. Now, I can’t promise anything, but I’ll have you know that I’m the ultimate voice of reason around here.” They smirked.

Cerid clasped Shark’s hand, uncertain. “Um, thank you.”

“And on that note…” Shark laughed as Cerid stumbled when pulled after them, all but slipping and falling down the porch steps.

“I-I thought you were going to talk to her!” he gasped.

“First and foremost, you need a place to stay, don’t you? Or were you going to sit out on the porch all night and freeze? Not that you’re not welcome to. Your choice.”

“Er… Well, you… You have a point,” Cerid mumbled.

“Always do. Well, there’s nowhere better than my house.”

Somehow, Cerid felt as if he had been pulled into something grand, fearsome and irrevocable. But that could have just been change in general, that unstoppable and terrifying thing, making his head spin.