What had brought her here? It was the logical question to ask after all of her musings. What made confronting the source so important to her? Why did she care if society shifted to an unfamiliar course? It was… safer. Safe. That word grated on the adventurer in a way she couldn’t define. She had never been safe in her life.

She drew a heavy wooden rod from her side and fueled it with mana. It burst to life with what appeared to be curling blue flames. They shot out and twisted back on themselves, forming the shape of a glowing spear with a very long tip. She watched the flames cool as they wrapped and tightened around themselves, and formed into a blue metal.

Thrusting forward, she felt the cool air ripple around her, and shivered from its chill as it set past the many layers of protection and warmth that slowed her down on the winter pass. She had formed the spear well this time. It moved comfortably through the air with little mental energy.

Her sharp eyes turned ahead, and without warning she sprinted forward and launched herself in the air. The adventurer’s movements were bestial, and she moved with a strength and swiftness that could intimidate most foes into faltering even before she had landed a strike. This target, a lone impenetrable eye, was not sentient enough to falter though. It caught sight of her movement and began to focus.

The spear cracked into the glassy surface of the floating eye in three places, each on the edge of the iris, each thrust no more than two inches deep. If one were to connect the dots, they would see a perfect triangle between the incisions. Then they would likely be blown away by the sheer concussive force unleashed by the eye as it was destroyed.

It’s weak spots critically maimed, the eye crashed to the ground and blew a torrent of snow raging through the air. The adventurer had already sheltered by a large boulder she had identified before her leap, and the force of its death merely made her shiver harder as she clutched the icy stone. When the gusts released from it calmed, she rushed out and reached for the core. They were valuable, true. But their real value was in their relation to the source point.

Why does that fill me was such an overpowering need?

It was strange to be questioning something so intrinsic to her nature. She hadn’t spent such long years training and exploring and traveling the world only to second-guess herself now. But perhaps it was exactly the length of those years that left her wondering why she had.

“Why are you telling me this?” Mason interrupted while the old woman had paused to reflect. He didn’t mean to be impolite, and he wanted to know more about her journey, but he couldn’t see how it connected to his own.

“Because I want you to know why you are here, and equally as important, why I am.” The pile of blankets and cushions began to shift, and slowly she rose. The dense mana in the air began to circulate, then pulled inwards toward her, and at the same time, she grew.

Buried in the pile, she could not possibly have been more than a few feet tall, but as she pulled the mana into herself, she transformed. There was still a hunch, and a softness to her body even under the loose robes that flowed and piled around her, but there was also still a great deal of mana in the air. Mason wondered what she was capable of in an emergency.

“I am old, and I have seen the world change, and now, finally, I have seen a new world. I like it not, but it is not for me to like, or to live in. I am here to pass on as much of my power as can be received, and then to fade into the past of our once great people. The council denies this, but the Trials are far less uncertain on the fact.” Her voice had a regal quality to it, even in its age. She spoke like she was used to wielding great power, and having her words obeyed.

“Grandmother, the Trials could also restore your strength. You said it yourself, you feel better than you have in a long time,” Faynel protested, a bit of her usual confidence having returned.

“Nonsense!” the old woman scoffed. “I am a relic, and I am burdened with too many years of believing in only one way to live. I cannot change that course now. If I could, we Marrans would not have been deemed in decline when we came here.”

Faynel looked stricken, “You cannot say that in front of…”

“I say what I would like!” she shouted. She walked close to Mason, and he willed himself to endure her potent aura. “Your people could be one of any great number of things, but I am certain about you. You are as much a Darkest Night as my arrogant granddaughter. The times have changed, and so must we.”

Mason knew he was being tested. “You said that your people were… in decline?”

The old woman smiled, “The Trials know that we were once great. A Source Master of the highest caliber could have levelled the Corrosi armies. I could have done so. We would know no fear in the face of them. But we grew civilized, and safe, and weak in our security. We forgot that dangers loom unknown in the distance, and we decayed. I suspect the same is true of the Biord, from what reports I have received, and those beasts you found in the tunnels seem to be victims of their own decline as well.”

“So this place is a punishment? A final nail in the coffin for races that failed? Who would do something like that?” Mason asked.

“This isn’t a punishment,” Faynel corrected. “What do we call these lands we’re in, Mason?”

“The Trials? Oh.” Sometimes, the simplest answer was correct. “What exactly are they testing us for?”

“To see who can pull themselves out of decline. What powers do you think might arise when you bring survivors from a great many worlds into a land that cannot support them? They will fight, they will conquer, and perhaps a person, perhaps a people, will be able to retrieve the strengths of others and find something new,” the old woman smiled now, satisfied that he was catching on.

“I have reason to believe that not all of Marra was brought to the trials. For one, the population of this city is small. Remarkably so. And beyond that, I can still feel my connection to the source. It is faint, but it remains. So Marra is not destroyed,” she explained.

“Do we have any incentive to play along with this game? And what really are the rules? Should we be enemies?”

The old woman shrugged casually, and walked back to her old perch, shrinking as her mana spread out once more. “Who knows? My rules are the same though. I believe that any capable of understanding magic should be given the gift. So I will share it with you and hope that you use it to protect my people. And there is a hope.”

Faynel finished her thought, “We think that if a few people on the plane become strong enough to reverse their people’s decline, that the rest may be free to return to their homes.”

“A pipe dream, or a fantasy, or a goal to work toward. It is something though.”

“And you mentioned the tree of memory,” Mason reminded her, “In your story?”

The old woman waved him off weakly, but even that simple motion made ripples in the mana in the air, “Not worth thinking about. I don’t have the gift, and our people have not retained any of the knowledge necessarily to learn it.”

“Even if I could unlock a branch?” Mason asked innocently. Faynel gasped faintly, and the old woman reconsidered them both.

“Perhaps it is worth thinking about, if it involves you. I presume Leornal left out some details from your adventures?”

“Leornal? I don’t understand how he’s related to this.”

“Well, Mowrytal may be the more important. But Leornal frequently knows more than he lets on, and he has a habit of getting involved with things. Did he tell you what he was on Marra?” the old woman was grinning mischievously now.

“An accountant, right?”

“Hmmm, yes. He did that. He was a moneyman, but he kept my daughter as company, and she is not simple either. And neither is my beloved granddaughter,” she nodded to Faynel. “But tell me, what do you know of the Tree of Memory?”

“I know that my branch is open. I’ve seen it inside my soul. But mine is twisted, bound up with Mowrytal and Geralt’s own memories.”

Faynel looked stricken, “Grandmother, I did not…”

“Shush,” the old woman said hurriedly. “He would not be the first soul arts user I have protected and he will not be the last. They are not evil, no matter what lies the cities spew. Did Mowrytal do this to you, child?”

Mason shook his head, “No, it was Artorias. The old man in the underground city. He was incredibly strong, and seemed to think he was helping.”

“He was at that, but maybe not for the reasons you hope. And you’re just as lucky to have met him as to have met Mowrytal. I can think of few others still alive that would have had the skills to make your soul a hospitable place after the brutal magic of that staff.”

None of this made sense to Mason. He didn’t know what roles any of these people had played, or a damn thing about the powers he was using or that had been used on him. “But the Tree of Memory can help?”

“If a connection could be established between your branch and mine, or you consumed my soul as well,” she laughed then, and it filled Mason and Faynel with dread to hear it. “Well, in either case your body as is would likely burn to dust in seconds. But perhaps an option will open in the future. Hearing about the Source, or reading about it, or studying its runes, can be a vastly moving experience. But if you could see the memories firsthand and draw your own account, well, then we could move you along.”

Mason tried to stand but wavered, then he looked up at the woman, “So what can we do?”

The woman shrugged, “Nothing. None of these options are possible as things stand. So I will continue to tell you what I can, and you will endure my training as I have prepared it.”

“I didn’t agree to be trained by you,” Mason pointed out as a challenge.

Faynel shot a look his way but he ignored her. The old woman simply laughed again, “I am very, very old, child. I can tell the way the wind is blowing, and I saw you before the council. Would you suddenly turn down power and possibility?”

“Grandmother, can I have a moment with Mason before we continue the story?” Faynel asked hurriedly, grabbing Mason’s hand and pulling him to his feet.

“Of course, my dear.” Mason could have sworn he saw a wink.

“What the hell are you doing?” Faynel yelled once they had made it a fair distance away from the temple. She was all fury, with her violet eyes wide and focused. Mason was surprised she didn’t take a swing at him.

Mason was pale from handling the mana surplus, but he managed to keep himself steady, and he wasn’t about to play into her games. “What, are you afraid of your grandmother?”

“Afraid?” Faynel asked, incredulous. She turned away, stomped, and turned back to him. “Did you not hear any of what she said? Did you not feel the mana pouring off of her? Not only is she the only Source Mage in the entire Trials that can teach us, but she provides enough mana to keep the entire city alive singlehandedly. There’s no afraid about it. You should do what she says!"

Maynel looked like he was about to argue, but she just continued to scream. “My mother, Torysen, Leornal, and Shaywise may have spoken in favor of protecting you, but the only reason you’re standing here in New Marra was because she told the council to allow it.”

“My rousing speech didn’t have anything to do with that?”

Faynel looked ready to strangle him. “You are being an idiot.”

“I’ve heard that a lot lately.”

“You’re going to get us killed!”

“That also sounds familiar.”

“What is with you?” her voice was a screech at this point, but Mason noticed nobody was nearby. At least not visibly. She must have scared away the crowd. Or maybe that was just a factor of the time of day. When had it gotten dark out?

“What is with you, Faynel? You seemed really confident when you marched into my house the other day and made yourself at home. You sparred excellently, you drugged me properly, you’ve seemed so in control of everything. But you’re acting like a mess when it comes to that old woman,” Mason matched her stare and took a step toward her.

Her hand launched out at his face and he stepped around it and smacked her hand down. Her next hand came up, curled into a fist, and he knocked that to the side too. “You’re even sloppier like this.”

“What the fuck, Mason!” she threw her hands up and stomped away.

“Do you think she wants you to submit to her, Faynel?” Mason called after her.

She turned then, all fury, and rasped, “What?”

“Do you think you’re being respectful? Giving her this ‘Yes, Grandmother’ stuff and manipulating people in accordance with her plans? If that’s really what she wants from you, then she’ll want that from me, and I don’t think that’s worth the power she can offer me.”

“What else could she expect? Even my mother obeys her and my mother is a Councilwoman!”

“Your grandmother wandered the world for who knows how long unbeholden to anybody and fearing nothing. She thought the cities were ridiculous and gave her rare and valuable power to a bunch of teenagers she met in a cave. What do you think she wants?”

“Things aren’t that simple, Mason. She’s gotten old, and…”

There was a noise that they both recognized in a heartbeat. It shouldn’t have been familiar, save for in video games or television shows, but Mason’s life was different now and he knew it innately by the tension in his muscles and the chill down his spine.

Steel against leather. A weapon being unsheathed.

The two of them turned at once to the sound of chuckling, and immediately moved their hands to their weapons.