“You’re not human.” Riggs stated flatly, then blushed. “Sorry, I, ugh, meant no offense.”

“No offense was taken.” She gave him a fanged smile that didn’t touch her eyes. “Demigol rarely let ourselves be seen, given the world’s usual hostility towards us.”

“Sorry, let me start over.” Riggs coughed and extended his hand. “It’s good to meet you Noctessa. I’m Riggs, son of Korjak, apprentice smith of Honour.”

Feline eyes took in his full height, flitted to Lyraal, then back to his large hand. She shouldered her bow and gripped his forearm, squeezing it hard with her powerful hands. Riggs winced from the pain and returned the gesture, albeit with less enthusiasm.

She looked from her hand, to his, then frowned up at him. “I expected you to be stronger.”

He opened his mouth to correct her, hesitated, then said. “It’s been a long night.”

The Warden stepped forward and offered their hand to Noctessa. “You may call me Lyraal.”

“I will call you sorcerer, lest I fall under your spell like this man.” The druid eyed Lyraal’s hand, then glanced away without shaking it.

“He- That is no-” Lyraal sighed, “Fine, we need to set up camp so I can see to the rest of Riggs’ injuries.”

“You slow me down already.”

Even she can see it, and she’s only known you-

Riggs looked down to see Lyraal squeeze his arm.

“We have been in two battles already and marched for hours. Look closely at the weapons these bandits wield, and tell me you would not want to check your wounds if they cut you.”

Notctessa snorted derisively. “Fine, I shall go fetch my arrows.”

“Wait,” Lyraal turned to Riggs, “The zombies in the village – did you see the necromancer raise them? Or did they rise on their own? Did anyone sense anything strange before they did?”

Riggs furrowed his brow as he thought back to a week ago.

His pa fell to his knees, chest full of arrows.

A woman dived in front of him, taking a sword through the chest.

They’re dead because of you.

He blocked out the memories and thought further back, to when everyone was still alive.

“People were saying they had a bad feeling all the time... it was right after the bandits came down from the keep. The next night, some of the people who had passed recently of natural causes rose up. No chanting or... or runes in the area, like I’ve seen you do.”

Lyraal turned back to Noctessa, “When you recover your arrows, be sure to chop off the heads of the bandits.”

The druid narrowed her eyes, “You want me to desecrate their dead?”

Lyraal nodded, ignoring the judgment in Noctessa’s question. “If you do not, they might rise against us. The necromancer’s power has cursed this place, spirits no longer find rest here, and will return to their bodies instead.”

“So you say.”

“It- it’s true,” Riggs added, “I’ve seen the dead rise, they’ll try to eat you, even if you were...friends in life.”

“Can we not try something less...destructive first?”

“No. I grew up around these monsters and the necromancers that create them,” Lyraal said, head bowed. “The only way to prevent it is with fire or destroying the head or body. If you do not have the stomach for the task, it is one I have done since I was a child – I can do it.”

“I will do it,” Noctessa replied, looking displeased, “But the stench will be unbearable and may draw scavengers.”

“Will the local scavengers be a danger to us while we camp?”

“Yes.”

“Then please help me gather the bodies somewhere away from camp, I can burn them.”

“So be it.”

“I can help,” Riggs said.

“No,” Lyraal replied immediately, “Gather your belongings from where you fell and set up a fire for us.”

“But-”

“No, Riggs. You are too injured to haul bodies around. Rest.”

An hour later, with the grisly business concluded and Riggs’ equipment recovered from across the path, the three sat around a bonfire. Lyraal and Noctessa sat across the fire from one another, each eyeing the other warily. There was no banter, friendly or otherwise. Riggs sat nearby, exhausted.

His maimed leg itched where the bandit stabbed him and all around where Lyraal cauterized the wound. He idly scratched at the wound and raw flesh through the hole in his pants, grimacing as some of the skin peeled off under his fingernails. But he couldn’t stop picking at it. The pain reminded him he was alive.

“Riggs, drink this,” Lyraal said, their eyes drawn to his latest grunt of pain. They took a leather bundle from their pack and unrolled it to show a number of small, glass vials sticking through loops to prevent them from bumping together. They pulled one vial from it, which contained a viscous, red liquid within. “Do not smell it and do not throw it up, these are not easy to make.”

Riggs took the vial and uncorked it, recoiling as the smell punched him in the nose. The metallic tang of blood was a clear scent, mixed with a number of others he couldn’t place. Across the fire, Noctessa’s nose wrinkled and her brow furrowed. “And they call my kind flesh eaters.”

The big man hesitated, squinting at the grainy liquid in the fire light, but as he moved the vial to his lips with forced conviction, the druid spoke again, “Do not drink that.”

“He needs more healing,” Lyraal said to her.

“Cork the vial, smith.” Noctessa said, moving to crouch next to him. “I will heal you.”

He looked between the two of them, then corked the vial and handed it back to Lyraal, who shrugged and slid it back into place among the others.

"Where are you injured?”

“Umm, everywhere?” Riggs replied, sheepishly.

Glowing eyes narrowed at him. “I am not here to give you tender ministrations, smith. Where does it hurt the most?”

“Sorry, uh, my neck, leg, and head, I guess.”

The druid pulled a small plaster pot from her pack and untied the twine holding the wax paper in place as a lid. She applied a thin layer of cool, minty poultice to his leg, murmured a prayer in a language he did not understand, then laid her hands around his legs. Riggs felt a warmth spread into him from her touch, but bit down on his lip when the energy reached the horrid wound on his leg. The itching sensation and pain intensified as he felt the muscle, tendon, and flesh speed through the healing process, leaving him drained.

When he blinked the pain away, he saw Noctessa’s eyes were bloodshot, shoulders slumped in fatigue she had not shown moments ago. She gave him a clinical scan again, then stood. “You would not survive further healing tonight.”

Noctessa returned to her spot across from Lyraal, who gave her a nod. They sat in silence that was, if not friendly, at least less awkward than before.

Camaraderie is integral to cooperation and success.

Riggs cleared his throat and his two companions looked at him. “How...how does magic work?”

“That is...complicated,” Lyraal said, but they seemed compelled to instruct. Picking up a stick, they drew a circle in the dirt, then drew a slash through it as they spoke. “To put it simply, magic is Aether, the spiritual reflection of our world and where spirits exist. Our worlds are divided by the Veil – the world of dreams. People draw Aether through the Veil and into themselves, then channel it into different magical effects. There are a few ways to do this, but there is always a cost.”

“Spirits are beings of pure magic, so they can work magic that is tied to their aspects freely, but have limitations ingrained into them by what they are. Some people,” they gestured to Noctessa, “bind individual spirits to themselves; this merges them together, spiritually, thereby granting the binder access to some of the magic.”

The druid’s eyes narrowed and she cocked her head as she listened attentively, scowling at Riggs when he looked at her and her glowing golden tattoos. Regardless of the warning in the druid’s expression, the big man couldn’t resist asking: “Are both sets of tattoos bindings? Are bindings always tattoos?”

She sighed, “Each tattoo represents one spirit that wished to bond with me. And no, a binding ritual is symbolic – most my sisters prefer scarification.”

Riggs didn’t seem bothered by the mention of scarification and wanted to ask more, but her gaze cut off further lines of questioning. Instead, he turned back to Lyraal, who tapped their stick on the ground waiting to get back to the lecture. He felt the tension building between his two companions.

“Many people pray to spirits who share their ethos and hope the spirits respond by working the requested magic through their body. Arcanists channel spiritual energy that already exists within our world to create runes thought to be the language of creatio-”

“No, you sorcerers steal magic from the spirits, bypassing their will and consent.” Noctessa snapped, pointing an accusing, clawed finger at the Warden. In the bonfire’s light, their face contorted with anger, but also surprise at her own outburst.

Lyraal shook their head and took a deep breath, fighting down their own frustration. They had seen this coming. “That is what spirits would have you believe, because they want your worship. The Aether is intangible and infinite – we do not pull energy directly from the spirits, just the domains they inhabit.”

“Is that how you justify fueling rituals and alchemy with the blood of magical creatures?” The druid gestured a claw at Lyraal’s pack, where the alchemical vials sat. Narrowed eyes showed no interest in letting the topic slide, now that it been broached. “How you justify hunting them down, the beings guilty only of possessing the parts you need for your thaumaturgy?”

“I won’t deny that arcana can be used for evil, but there are also plenty of sinister spirits out there that will empower evil warlords or prey on mortals themselves - or make use of the same parts! At least arcana doesn’t let spirits influence one’s mind!”Lyraal shot back, frustration boiling over their desire to remain rational.

So much for that plan.

The argument grew more heated and Riggs quickly lost track of it, then he nodded off despite the ongoing rancor around him.

He woke later, blinking bleary eyes, to see the bonfire down to cinders, Lyraal packing up their sleeping mat, and Noctessa already gone. Small rays of sunlight pierced the forest’s canopy, offering a bit more illumination than the previous night and dispelling much of the area’s apparent threat. He issued a mighty yawn and stretched, then climbed to his feet mindful of his injured leg.

“You are looking well rested,” Lyraal smiled, despite the bags under their own bloodshot eyes. The halos in their eyes were gone again.

“I think I’m getting used to sleeping in armour,” Riggs turned his torso left and right, wincing at the pain. “Where’s Noctessa?”

“She went ahead to scout out the keep. We are close now.”

“We best get going then,” he said, buckling on his weapon harness and throwing his shield over his shoulder. “I’ll eat while we walk.”

Riggs pulled a stick of jerky from his jumbled, crushed pack and went to pop it into his mouth, but stopped. He paused and held it under his nose and inhaled deeply.

“Suspicious after your tumble down the hill?” Lyraal asked.

“No...” Riggs said, salivating, “I haven’t...smelled meat – the kind you actually want to eat – in...in over a week.” He placed the jerky in his mouth and savoured every bite with audible pleasure.

Lyraal chuckled at his rapture and smiled, all too familiar with the sensation themselves.

They caught up to the druid about an hour later, the forest easier to navigate with the extra bit of light available to them. Noctessa issued a bird-like twitter that drew their eyes to her position in a tree’s lower branches and the two waited as she slinked out of the tree, using the claws on her hands and feet to make the effort trivial. Riggs watched with keen interest, having never seen anyone climb a tree with such agility before and wishing he could do the same, even without the claws.

Today, she had the eyes of an eagle, and her red, sweeping tattoos gave a faint glow instead of the gold ones. The glow intensified as she blinked her eyes repeatedly, and then faded entirely when she opened them to reveal the vibrant green eyes of a normal human. The claws and pawed feet remained, however.

“We are nearly there – another hour,” she looked to Riggs, “or two, at most. This path will lead right up to the shattered walls and gate of the keep, there are a number of buildings within.”

“Wait, walls? Buildings?” Lyraal’s brow furrowed, “That sounds more like a castle.”

Noctessa scowled at them, “You called it a keep last night – so I’m calling it a keep.”

“I had not realized the people here built a castle so close to the border...”

Noctessa interrupted their thinking, voice agitated. “Is it a castle or a keep?”

“What? Oh.” Lyraal drew back from their mental wandering, “A keep is a fortification, usually the innermost sanctum of a castle. The castle is the outer areas – walls, gates, bailey. You can have a keep without a castle, but likely not a castle without a keep.”

“Must you always lecture when asked a simple question?”

“I apologize” Lyraal replied, turning away, “I can not help it.”

“Are there any bandits in the area?” Riggs asked the druid.

“We are in luck; their leader seems displeased with the situation and they are leaving. They do not plan to come this direction, but head south and east, instead, so there is no need to face them this day.”

“How many are there?” Lyraal asked.

Noctessa frowned at them, “Just over a dozen, why?”

Lyraal looked to Riggs. He fidgeted with the hammer at his belt, mulling the information over, then spoke, “I think... I think we should stop them.”

“Why should we shed our blood if they no longer stand in our way?”

“I can’t let them go on to hurt more people, like they did to...”

Lyraal chimed in as his speech drifted off: “Besides, they may bear some curse or hex from this place, and could spread the necromantic aura unknowingly. That could be much worse than simple banditry.”

“I am not as familiar with sorcery as you, but I did not think magic could last that long without its wielder’s attention.”

“It does not,” Lyraal replied, “but the power I have sensed thus far suggests something from the God Wars.”

Riggs blinked in confusion, but Noctessa spoke immediately, “If you fear such a thing, then should we not face it fresh? Why waste our energy against foes that only might be a problem when a greater threat is clearly before us?”

“It may not be the wise thing to do,” Lyraal replied, their voice melancholy, “but it is the right thing to do. I cannot stand by while those villains walk free to harm other innocent lives.”

Riggs grunted, “Yeah, me neither.”

“So be it. Your hearts are in the right place,” the druid admitted, side-eying Lyraal especially, “so I will assist in this short-sighted, foolish endeavour.”

“Thank you,” Riggs said, while Lyraal rolled their eyes.

“Do not thank me yet.” Noctessa smiled, “We will have to move swiftly to catch up to them. The pace will be...most unpleasant.”

She took off, covering ground as if unhindered by the grasping underbrush.

Lyraal chuckled, “You made the right choice. Come along”

Riggs watched the two of them move and wished he could mirror their grace. He grabbed his trusty walking stick and followed, trying to make up for his lack of dexterity by trampling any root or bush that dared get in his way.

It was not an effective strategy.

Drenched in sweat and panting, he caught up to his companions where they waited within the edge of the forest. His walking stick was long lost, broken in a fall, and his sweat threatened to turn the dust and dirt coating him into mud. His allies didn't even seem winded.

“I see those heavy muscles do not help you navigate the woods,” Noctessa snorted. She jolted as Lyraal gave her a friendly elbow to the side, but the glare she gave them was half-hearted.

“So...” Riggs panted, ignoring them, and resting hands on his knees. Bent over as he was, he couldn’t see Noctessa’s nose wrinkle at the smell of his sweat. “What’s the plan?”

“We arrived just in time,” Noctessa reported, “They prepare to depart – we wait for them to leave the keep, take position in the fortifications, and attack them. They outnumber us, so an ambush is necessary to even the odds. The sorcerer and I shall engage them at range, eliminate their archers, and you shall defend us if their raiders come within reach of your sword arm.”

Lyraal paused, then nodded, “That...that is a good plan.”

The druid’ eyes narrowed at them, “You thought me a fool? I hunt trespassing vermin like them more often than monsters more deserving of my prowess.” She sniffed at them dismissively.

“I am more surprised that you know how to work as a team.”

“I am well versed in hunting with a pack,” her eyes smouldered now, “do not think me some simple savage because I hunt alone and do not wear the trappings of your ‘civilization’.”

“I did not-” The Warden blushed, “No, you are right. I am sorry for the judgment in my words, I did not mean for it to come out that way. I meant to say I was surprised you would work with me, but I said something entirely different – and worse.”

“I guess we can both lower our standards when needed, sorcerer.” Noctessa gestured towards the keep with one hand, “Now, would you care to use your great libraries of knowledge to refine my crude, simple plan?”

Lyraal shook their head in response.

“Good, then let’s execute your fool idea.”

She stalked off ahead of them. Not knowing what to say, Riggs gave Lyraal a few reassuring, gentle pats on the shoulder, and then the two of them set off after their companion. It only took the trio a few minutes to get to the very end of the forest and stand before no mere keep, but a castle’s outer wall.