Neda had never seen such a magnificent thing- an indoor hot-spring in the form of what appeared to be a monstrously large, golden tub. The magical water within bubbled, but not with the yellowy foam she had learned from the elders to avoid. Instead; the magical foam was as pink as it was fragrant- scented with flowers, none of which she could discern from Amy’s explanations. Living out in the blight, she had no idea what a lily was, nor a rose or any of the other twenty-or-so plants she had spoken of. All she knew was that Lena had spoken of such a miracle and promised to one day take her to one such impossibility and teach her how to wash herself like a lady would... as thankful as she was that the woman was now little more than a rotting husk out in the desert sands; she wished she had at least shown her something other than her naked body.

“Madame?” Neda yelped as Amy spoke from behind her shoulder and motioned for the hot, steaming tub. The desert wildling would’ve slipped on the pristine, white tiles if it hadn’t been for the swift maid’s surprisingly strong arms. Without a word- unphased by the startle, she set the wildling back on her feet and once again motioned for the water and said; “Please, Madame. For this evening’s dinner, we’ve much work to do. Your hair is a tangled mess and you are still covered in the desert’s dust.” She had hated Amy at first, as the look in Barrel and Asrael’s eyes upon seeing her had made her feel... envious... of the fine, black-haired, long-legged maid. Since then, she had learned that the girl was a kind, attentive soul who only wanted what was best for her Master and his visitors... Not that it made the desert wildling feel any better. In fact, she only felt worse- knowing that she could not even fault the girl's superior motivations.

Neda took a step forward and handed Amy the towel before getting ready to step into the water. “R-right...”

Submerging herself was, at first, a frightening experience. She had felt cold or tepid water before, but never felt such a warmth- such a comfortable hotness surround every inch of her skin. She had watched in awe as Amy’s soft, delicate hands had scrubbed her clean from the tip of her toes and up to the roots of her hair. By the time she had finished lathering her hair up with the myriad of concoctions and finally begun to run the comb through the wild strands, the water had already reached a comfortable, neutral temperature- neither warmer nor colder than the girl in the pink foam.

Amy broke from her lengthy silence to speak a comfortable; “I hope everything is to your liking, Madame. Master Gerathar would want it no different- he cares for you a great deal.” Neda looked up to see a slight smile expressed on the corners of the maid’s lips. She swallowed and questioned; “R-really? W-why? I haven’t known him more than a few days...” Amy giggled and softened her grip on the wildling’s hair.

“But you are a Magus. He cares for all of our kind, but I suspect he has an extra liking for you above many of the others.” The question remained... “But... why?”

Amy ran a moist hand along Neda’s cheek and looked to her red, confused irises with a benevolent, bemused smile and whispered; “Well, you are a very pretty girl. You are kind, strong, intelligent- I cannot imagine why he would not be interested.” Neda’s cheeks flushed a bright red. All her life; she had never heard someone speak of her with such positive connotations. She gently shook her head and whispered in turn; “A-Asrael wouldn’t agree. He says I’m weak, dumb and some other stuff I can’t understand.”

Amy seemed to disapprove as soon as she heard the Necromancer’s name, just as Maribelle would usually do whenever he came up in a passing conversation. Neda noticed the effect of her slander and quickly added; “B-but he’s not as bad as he seems, y’know. He saved my life- twice.” Amy’s crooked smile unfurled as she giggled once more.

Following her bemused chuckle, she said, “Well, he is obviously delusional. You are objectively beautiful- no man would deny it. As for your intelligence; none who have survived your trials could be anything short of a genius. Gerathar agrees with me- I can see it.”

This time, it was Neda’s turn to giggle. “You’re all so nice to me over here. Look at me; you’re cleaning me, feeding me, training me and clothing me... it almost makes me never wanna leave!” She grinned up at the maid. Amy leaned forwards to raise an eyebrow and suggest; “We must take care of one-another- we are magi, after all... but since you mentioned it, I feel I must ask. Why must you leave? You can stay here with us, rather than go back to that... man.”

As true as it was that Asrael had given her precious few reasons to stay, she could not imagine leaving him behind- not in that tavern. He had saved her life twice and taken her from the camp and the Pit. And even if he said he wanted nothing to do with her, she could not help but feel saddened by the thought of him being on his lonesome. Whenever she looked into his eyes, she saw a reflection of herself- a mirrored pain so similar to her own, but in spite of that; he seemed determined to push on- to act on that goal of his... as much as Gerathar and Amy could teach her, she could not see any sign of that pain she needed to conquer.

Neda shook her head and corrected the maid; “He’s not so bad, y’know. He might be mean and stuff, but he’s got a plan to fix this and punish the ones hunting us... and if I can help him with that, then I’ll do whatever I can.” Amy’s smile seemed pained to hear it, but she conveyed her understanding with a nod and spoke in turn; “And that is why you seek strength. To help him and to avenge your brother?”

Neda was angry for what they had done to her and Rallo, but as much as she wanted to dish out that punishment... ultimately she shook her head. “It’s not about revenge- not for me... I just don’t want people to end up like me or Rallo... or him.” Amy finished combing Neda’s hair and filled her tubside bowl with water to wash the wildlings hair with a smile.

“If you can do anything to prevent anymore people like him, I will support you.” She laughed and although Neda didn’t want to... she could not still a laughter of her own.

It had been decades since last Barrel had touched the ink and quill, but there it was- all in one, bundled collection in their host’s library. His own name stood written on the books’ sides- “Sir Berth Vidae - Life is an extraordinary adventure” was his favorite. Of all his works, this last, published book had been the one to change it all. It had given him the courage to leave his station- to give up his position at the Academy and step out into the world and live up to the legacy he had penned for himself- life's great adventure. The only thing he regretted was that damnable pen-name; the one that would ultimately nullify his every claim to fame... then again, this was likely for the best, he thought. Art should have no owners- no profiteers. He scratched his distended belly and sounded a loud belch as he heard the unmistakably light steps of the barefoot wildling and turned to see her stunning form.

Somehow; she looked taller than ever- clad in a white, tight dress that showed off her physiological curves. Her long hair had been donned up and now that the rusty dust was gone, her patches of sun-bleached strands were a magnificent sight. She was still unused to wearing shoes, but she was learning how to maneuver them, without tripping over her feet, which she proudly displayed for the small, fat man by walking over towards him- tipping the small, hard undersides against the wooden floor.

Barrel whistled and nodded appreciatively- wishing, but for a moment, that he had been thirty years younger and capable of wooing her. “Lookin’ fine ther, Nedda. Gerry’s gunna freak out.” The white dress high-lighted her blush as she gentle shook her head to not undo Amy’s careful work on her hair.

“Y-you think? D’you think Asrael’s gonna like it?” He seemed stumped by the question for a moment before nodding. “’Course he will. I dun’ think you need’a fancy yerself up for him, tho.” She cocked her head, but before she could question any further, Gerathar’s step stole away their attention from behind. She turned around to see him in his usual, handsome form- tall, clad in a black suit with a white undershirt and a strange-looking scarf that hung down his middle.

“Shall we go eat, my dearest Neda?” He questioned in a low, demonstrative bow. She had to fan her face at the sudden spike in the room’s temperature and found herself strangely affected by his strange suit- suddenly weakened at the knees and hips. “S-s-sure...” Was all she could muster as he took her by the hand and led her onwards into the dining Hall.

“Allow me...” Gerathar had chuckled as he saw Neda struggle with her cutlery. In the Blighted Lands, food was food and implements with which to eat it were wholly unnecessary. Their fingers would do and, in case there were any leftovers; her tongue would lap the surface on which she was served. Asrael had throughout their journey commented on her lack of manners on several occasions, but never once raised a hand to instruct her, but Gerathar... Gerathar was a gentleman. He sat next to her and sliced open the strange, yellow vegetables with the knife-and-fork combo, before dipping it in the sauce and finally; slice off a piece of the meat. She could not help but blush as he raised the food to her lips and watched her eat another piece of her meal. He chuckled the way only he could- that charming scoff of his. As the flavors filled her mouth and nose, she was certain she had never before had a more delicious meal... or perhaps it was simply due to the company.

She took a sip of her wine as Gerathar continued slicing another piece of the meat and said; “I am surprised he has not taught you how to use cutlery. He seems like a man who values that sort of thing.” This time, it was her turn to chuckle.

“Nah... he usually just complains and doesn't really teach me anything... I’m sorry... I can try again-” He shook his head dismissively and raised another forkful of food to her lips. As she chewed, he patiently spoke; “You should not push yourself so. It is not the first time I have hosted someone from the Blight in my home- I am accustomed to this, I assure you.” It relieved her to know that she was not the first village idiot to step into his house, but felt a measure of... jealousy... for it. As if reading her mind, he continued; “But none as special as you, of course.” Again, she blushed.

Another sip of wine later, she broke the calm, comfortable silence. “You’re so nice to me- you all are.” He raised an eyebrow and looked up from her plate to protest; “It is nothing you do not deserve. We must take care of one-another, as there are precious few left of us. I am certain Asrael agrees. Now that the Rift has been opened, it is more difficult than ever for us to hide, after all.” She smiled briefly, but felt as if something was off a moment later- as if the piece she had just chewed had been unexpectantly sour at the centre. She cleared her throat and raised a palm to signal for him to slow his efforts. Perhaps it had been the mention of the Rifts- those damnable things Asrael always kept going on-and-on about... She put down the cup and asked her gracious host;

“What is a Rift? He looks like he’s about to shit himself whenever he talks about one.” Gerathar put down the knife and fork and nodded his understanding. “Oh, an interesting question- one I would be happy to answer over a drink in the arboretum. If you would join me?” She would be a fool not to- not when there was learning to be done.

So rarely had she ever left food unfinished, but something about it being so aplenty had made it secondary to learning more about this strange, new world outside the Blighted Lands. Thusly; she had followed after her host- out into a magical indoor garden of tall flowers and plants, growing from ceramic jugs. Her uncultured mind screamed for her to explore the place- to see and smell its wonders with her own eyes and nose, but the enticing prospect of learning more of these ‘Rifts’ took precedence... for now. She sat down in the wooden, two-seated sofa in the midst of the green paradise as Gerathar poured her another glass of red wine and informed; “A Rift is, in short; the entryway- a door for the magics of the realm of Demons to enter into our world. For as long as there has been life on our planet, the Rifts have been open.”

He sat down next to her to shine his handsome smile and run a hand through his luscious hair. Naturally; her next question was; “What’s a Demon?”

He stroked his chin ponderously before informing; “Many a time I have asked myself the same question. It is an inhabitant of the magical realms- a manifestation of pure magic. They are as varied as humans, but are said to have motivations beyond our understanding. We know of a few of them- the few whose mention survived the great birth of our Empire... but not many.” It seemed that with every question he answered, two new would arise. She excitedly leaned forward on the couch and asked; “And... Why's that?” His hearty chuckle was a refreshing change from Asrael’s scolding whenever she asked a question.

“Not much is known of our world before the Birth. It was a wild land- one in which humans, and to some extent; Demons walked our world. In the past, we were divided in nations spread across masses of land far beyond our current cartographic knowledge- led by kings and emperors and whathaveyous. But at the heart of them all were the Demons- beings whose motivations were far too complicated for our human minds to comprehend. Try as we might, the humans were powerless to resist what they offered... we do not know why, but it said that a certain event set in motion by a Demon nearly kill every last man. At which point; the First Emperor appeared.” He took a swig of the wine and looked over to his riveted companion to see her glistening, starry eyes look back at him- amazed with his tale. As if sensing her question, he resumed;

“He was a man unlike any other- capable of interacting with our world and the world beyond. With this Godly power of his; he closed the Rifts entirely and effectively cut the Demons off from our world... whether he knew what would happen to the world’s magics in the absence of the Rifts, we will never know... it is a humbling thought that the state of our world might, at one point, have been so terrible that someone with power like his would deem it fit to snuff us out.” She shuddered at the thought of it. She was still unaware of what a powerful magus was... thus far in her journey; she had yet to see much magic... but if this man was strong enough to make Gerathar seem awe-struck, then surely, he must’ve been an impressive guy.

“Master... someone is here to see you.” Neda heard from behind her back. Gerathar looked up at Amy to wave her off, only to be told; “It is the Duke.” This seemed to displease Gerathar, though he was far from as obvious in his displeasure as Asrael usually was. Instead; he smiled and cracked his fingers one-by-one as he nodded his acknowledgement and wistfully turned to Neda to explain; “It seems I’ve a guest to shoo away. I dreadfully apologize, but I fear our date might end early...” He muttered. Neda shook her head and chirpily dismissed his worry with; “That’s fine. That was a nice dinner and I think I’m getting dizzy from the wine... d’you mind if I walk around a bit in the grass?” It took him a moment to understand that, for the wildling, this ‘grass’ was, in fact, his priceless assortment of various herbs.

“Of course. Amy will guide you around the flowers- yes?” Amy nodded agreeingly and bowed. Bartholomew stood up from his seat in one, smooth motion and bowed down deep to grab Neda’s hand and kiss its dorsum. “I hope to see you before tomorrow, but if not, I thank you for this evening. It truly was a pleasure.” When he strode off, it was as if he gained a considerable burden on the way- slumping his shoulders as he continued crackling his knuckles aggressively.

Amy was every bit as gracious a guide as Bartholomew and answered Neda’s questions regarding the flowers without a second’s pause. She had never seen such beautiful greenery- white, green, red, blue- most of them colors the Blighted Lands lacked.

“Oh! Oh! How about this one!?” Neda excitedly questioned the maid. Amy looked to the tall, thin thing and cocked her head back and forth as if racking her mind for its name. Finally; she mused aloud; “I believe it is called ‘Death’s lover’.” It was sparsely leaved from the bottom and covered in sharp spikes, but its most unique feature by far was the wide, loose rose atop it- a blindingly white, pale thing. It reminded her so of Asrael she nearly giggled at its astounding height. She reached out and touched its smooth, soft petals, only to yelp as the heavy flower loosened and fell into her arms. She quickly glanced to the maid to exclaim; “I’m sorry! I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to do that! I-”

Amy raised her palms and giggled with a shake of her head. “I assure you, all is well. These flowers only live for a short time before they die. What is important is the onion from which they will grow anew in a few weeks.” Amy pointed down to the pot where, quite correctly, a strange-looking nut of some kind could be seen through the sparse dirt. Neda breathed a sigh of relief at not having killed it- or at least not being blamed for its death.

Amy stroked Neda’s cheek and grabbed the flower before securing it to her hair. “You should take it home and put it in water. Perhaps, if you are fortunate, it will leave you an onion of its own when it wilts.” The maid looked in the direction of the distant table and nodded as if partaking in a one-sided conversation.

“Alas, dear Neda, I believe you must leave should you make it home before nightfall... unless you wish to stay?” Neda looked up the tall stalk and regretfully shook her head. She had another long, spindly thing to check up on before night fell.