Something irritating yet soft is piled beneath his body. Vahkul raises, his body folding inward as his consciousness shoots to him. A gasp, deep and fearful inflames his lungs. “Manny!” The scream is ripped from him, like the the stem of a grape is torn from the flesh of the fruit.

A sob rises within him as his eyes dart. The grass around him is green and brown, not a hint of burnt red to be found. Upon further inspection, Vahkul comes to the realization that a bed of long and dry wisps of grasses had been weaved into a makeshift mattress underneath his body.

“I see you aren’t dead. The Gods truly are cruel beasts.” The voice is deep, a mournful tone taking the octaves down a few levels. Turning, Vahkul is forced to face Dafiel. He’s sure to have seen better days.

The skin beneath his eyes hangs haggardly, the flesh translucent and thin, like the smallest of touches would slide it right off of his face.

And his face.

God.

Whatever happened while Vahkul was knocked out had taken something vital from the Onesian. In his eyes, the druid is almost sure he sees the deaths of hundreds reflected in their dark and twisted green orbs.

Dafiel sits, his arms wrapped loosely around his knees which are pressed gently to his chest. He looks tired. He looks defeated. Not knowing what else to do, Vahkul slowly approaches the man and attempts to put a hand on his shoulder.

Dafiel flinches away, bucking in a way that tosses Vahkul’s limp hand off forcefully. A sigh leaves him. He goes to rub his eyebrows. “You know, the elders would tell me that harboring such nasty and explosive emotions would poison my soul.” His sharp teeth pick at his bottom lip, drawing blood.

“They would tell me to sit, close my eyes, breath in the earth and feel what it means to live as our Gods willed.” His eyes slowly drag over to meet Vahkul’s own. “And I would take that advice, if they were still alive to give it.”

The druid’s hand shoots to his chest, clasping at the robes that cover it as pain envelopes the wide canvas. His heart thump thump thumps against the bones restricting it.

The death in Dafiel’s eyes isn’t just metaphorical. He had seen something so horrendous that a piece of him is probably lost forever. The thought of all those deaths weighs heavy on his soul. “Daf-”

Dafiel’s head shakes, his ragged braids sliding from one shoulder to the other. “They should have known better. They should have forced you to leave. They should have done everything within their power to make Tanitha go.” He doesn’t say what they had done instead. He doesn’t speak of how they forced her to stay.

His lost expression turns into one of pure rage. “I mean, she was an amono. They knew what she was, they knew where she came from. They knew her people, they had to have realized that she was far from home for a reason. They had to have known that they would come for her.”

Vahkul had never really stopped to think about why Tanitha had been traveling alone. He had never asked questions that led outside of himself, mostly because he knew that she would never answer them, but also because he hadn’t thought to. He had never stopped to think about the repercussions of staying close to her either.

Somewhere along the way, Vahkul had grown comfortable around the woman. He just can’t place when or why.

Tanitha had breathed death into the air with just a few words. He of all people should have known what would follow. But the druid had been selfish. Vahkul had seen a community that was happy to have him, he had felt cherished for those two days that he worked in the hospital, and he had let that feeling of companionship seep into his poisoned veins.

He had hoped that staying with the Onesians would help him, would save him, for he had believed in Tanitha’s warning more than he wished to admit. “ Your breath will not pass the rising sun. Fair well in the city of trees, and you might live to see what will become of the world you so willingly betrayed.”

Vahkul had believed Yukos to be the city of trees.

But perhaps he was wrong, and fate has yet to catch up to him. Vahkul’s sagging head shoots up. “Where is Tans?” A dry laugh leaves the man before him.

“Did you not hear anything that I said?” Dafiel doesn’t bother to make eye contact this time around.

Not knowing what else to do, Vahkul stands and looks around. There’s nothing here. There are no people, no homes, not even a single speck of ash to be seen.

Where had Dafiel taken him?

“Where is everyone? Where is Tans, Dafiel?” He repeats himself, hoping to catch a decent answer.

“They have her! Don’t you understand!” Dafiel shoots up, his hands closing into tight fists and his toes going to dig into the earth. Vahkul swallows, taking a small step back.

The last thing he wants or needs to do is get into a fight with a man that looks as if he’s lost everything. Dafiel scowls, his lips curling to reveal teeth sharp enough to chew through bone. “I did what I had to do.” This, Vahkul doesn’t expect.

His body loses tension as he looks at the man that was supposed to be Tanitha’s closest friend here. They had spent more time together than apart, seeing as she had been positioned to become a guard. “What did you do?” The words slip past his lips before they can be filtered.

Dafiel’s eyes stray to the ground, his fists closing tighter. Vahkul takes a step towards him, a sort of cold sweeping over his body. “What did you do, Daffy?” Dafiel cringes at the name, his eyes glazing.

“It was her or Lilian.”

“What?” Vahkul takes another small step.

“She- Li- They were going to kill her! They were cutting down anyone that stood in the way, and Lilian was hellbent on sticking to the elders’ commands! I couldn’t let them kill her, not when she was barely holding on as it was.” His hands open until they hang limp at his sides.

“So you what? You just tossed Tans into their hands?”

“Yes! Do you not understand what the amonos are?!” Dafiel’s hand rises to his head to hold his braids away from his face. His mouth is skewed and his eyes are red.

Something about the expression reminds Vahkul of himself. “You don’t fuck with them! They are the law, Vahkul! Tans was the only exception, and look where that got us! My home is gone, my leaders dead, my safety snatched from me! Do you want me to apologize?!”

Dafiel grabs onto the collar of Vahkul’s robes, his bloody fingers curling around the fabric as if it’s his life line. Vahkul can see that having to choose between Tans’ life and Lilian’s has caused him more grief than the man originally thought it would. “I’m sorry, okay! But the amono handle their own kind.”

That angers him.

Vahkul has been the victim of abuse and bystander syndrome. He’s looked into the eyes of silent crowds of crows that stood by and watched him be picked at by singular hawks. He’s seen the absolute disgust in their eyes, because in their mind, they think him weak for not always being able to fight his own battles.

He’s heard their whispers and burned from the accusations resting in their stares.

Tanitha will not be a victim of bystanders. He won’t allow it. “You have your elders to blame for this,” The whisper is faint, but Dafiel is sure to have heard it. “They took her choice away. Lilian took her choices away. Now you want to let her suffer at the hands of people that are clearly dangerous.”

Dafiel’s hold on his clothes loosens. “This blood is on your hands, not hers, and you know it. You weren’t innocent.” He snarls at Vahkul’s words, backing away from the druid. The Onesian shakes his head, and for the first time since they’ve met, Vahkul feels as if he sees through the man. Dafiel does not believe in the choice that he made that night. “Tell me where they took her.”

This draws a gawff from the man. His eyes widen. “And what exactly can you do? You’re a week behind them. And even if you did know where they were going, the amono’s settlements are impenetrable for a reason. That’s where they hold all of the realms most dangerous criminals.”

Vahkul actually has no plan in mind. He just knows that he doesn’t want to leave Tanitha to her fate, not when he had a hand in its downward path.

If he had just done as he was supposed to…

Things would be different.

“Just tell me where they took her!” Dafiel shakes his head, taking another step away.

And that’s when Vahkul finally feels something. The smallest of sparks lights something nasty within him, something that had been tossed in the back of his mind and forgotten after his excommunication. No, not forgotten. Ignored.

His hands shake at his sides, the palms sweating. His chest burning so badly that Vahkul almost swears that he can hear his skin hissing beneath his clothing. His voice is uneven as he asks for what he hopes is the final time, “Where have they taken her?”

Dafiel sees something. His eyes enlarge as they look into Vahkul’s own. “I don’t know,” The man finally expresses, his shoulders slumping with the release. “No one knows where the amono settlements are.” His head shakes. “They cloak their homes just as we veil ours. The only difference is that their veils are made to kill, to eradicate, while ours are meant to alert and trap.”

Dafiel picks at the grass with his feet. “I know you don’t believe me, but I wish I could tell you more.” The man holds the druid’s eyes as he says his final piece, “I have a village to rebuild and a community to protect. I wish you luck, friend.”

Then he turns and leaves, off to create a new hidden village next to the remnants of an ashen meadow.

The heat in his chest had yet to dissipate despite the fact that he had been on the move for over an hour now. He knows where it’s coming from, but Vahkul is too scared to actually look at the markings on his chest.

He fears the raised scars may be blackened by a darkness that he thought he had conquered or vanquished long ago.

Trying not to dwell on his pain, Vahkul pushes through the foliage around him, not too sure about where he’s going. He had followed after where he thought Dafiel had gone soon after his anger left him. Because he has no information to go on, Vahkul needs the Onesian.

He needs a guide.

Despite the time that he’s spent on this continent, he is no more familiar with it than when he had initially arrived, and he only has himself to blame.

Thinking back, the druid begins to realize that most of the problems he has encountered have been of his own creation. He can’t even force out a sigh between his heavy breathing.

“He couldn’t have gotten that far,” The man mutters to himself. He swears that he had just seen Dafiel not five seconds ago. How could he have put that much distance between the two so quickly?

Vahkul’s feet slow as the ground beneath him changes from grass to dirt and mulch. He has to be going to right way. More dirt means a variety of plants and trees, trees that could be inhabited by forest folk, right?

He continues forward, so focused on the changes in the ground that he doesn’t see what’s in front of him until it’s too late.

Darkness travels from his shadow and wraps itself around the base of his legs. His movements are halted. The sound of heavy footsteps approaching rockets between his ears. The dried leaves and dirt are disturbed by the dragging of a gossamer dress tail.

Vahkul doesn’t have to look up to know who stands before him. In fact, if he wants to live, he would do well to drop his head further. The heat finally leaves him and is replaced with a vacant and familiar coldness. “ Healer ,” The word, no, the name rolls off of his empress’s tongue like a dollop of sweet silken mustard.

Her iron tipped boots sink into the soft ground as she stops before him. Vahkul can’t control the spasms in his body. His nerves tingle in a single wave, causing his fingers to jerk. “They finally found you. How have you been? From what I’ve heard, the legion hasn’t seen you in over a month.”

She asks questions that she already has the answers to, just as he remembers. She wants those that have submitted to her to admit the wrongdoings that she knows they’ve committed so that a terrible guilt might eat them up before she does.

While Vahkul is surprised to see his Great Grace out in the woods, possibly getting her hands dirty, he isn’t surprised to see the two following pairs of feet.

Trige and Hunts.

The absolute pains in his butt.

They stand no more than a foot behind the empress, their own boots muddied and barely hanging on by their soles. He should have known that it would be them that ultimately found him. He had just hoped they would kill him outright.

Desertion is no joke.

Though his feet are still locked into their position, Vahkul manages to fold himself up, his head so low, that the empress can step on it, should she want to. “Great Grace,” He breathes. “I am s-”

“Check his pouches,” She orders, cutting him off. The two lap dogs are upon him before he can plead his case.

The empress watches, her eyes the embodiment of darkness and her hair a stark contrast. Her hands are folded behind her back and her spine is straight as she stares at him. Into him.

He can say nothing as his pouches are torn from his waist. His dirtied robes are ripped apart in the controlled dogs’ attempt to find any hidden compartments.

Vahkul is left shivering despite the humidity and accompanying heat, his fingers splayed on his chest. “Make sure you get the one on the end,” The empress instructs, her eyes still on the man that had been reduced to a whimpering boy at her feet. The druid’s eyes close as he takes a deep breath.

The most logical outcome is that he dies. The empress will summon the power within her, the one that has nations terrified of her anger, and she will devour him until there is nothing left. No ash. No bone. No shining rays of healing light.

The worse outcome is that she keeps him alive. In this scenario, the empress will take him with her, and he will suffer a far worse fate. His eyes travel up to the necklace resting between her pale collarbones.

His shivering intensifies.

“Two are empty, Great Grace,” The pair report. Silence takes front stage.

If Vahkul actually believed in the nation’s God, he would pray to it. He would beg for redemption and forgiveness. Unfortunately for him, no amount of conditioning can truly take his faith in the old Gods.

He had seen their power the night he tried to raise Manny from the grave. He had felt it, and the scars on his chest are proof enough. Vahkul also knows better than to run to them. For they are not like the one celebrated in Velshlind.

These Gods do not care about his life, not unless they are receiving something in return for their efforts. And Vahkul has no tithe, not tonight.

Finally, after a few minutes of stewing in Vahkul’s fear, the empress breaks the silence. And how does she break it? With laughter.

His neck almost cracks as his eyes dart up to stare at his monarch. Never once has he seen her smile before, much less laugh. But her eyes are dewy with joyous tears and her sharp cheeks have rounded. “You gave her the tea?”

Vahkul’s brows shoot up, his mouth lies agape. He looks to the pouch that the empress has taken into her hands. True, it looks different from his typical tea bags, but other than the insignia embroidered into the side, he can see no obvious differences.

It is just a tea meant to calm a raging soul.

The empress’s smile is wide with glee, as she places her hand on his forehead. “You did well, little healer.” His skin goes cold beneath her hands.

The flesh stiffens with stinging pain. Vahkul groans as she latches on, frost crackling where her fingers meet his skin. He screams as the empress sends something utterly horrendous into his mind. Milky and cold understanding washes over him.

She’s giving it back.

His vision blackens as his mind reels. As it expands to accompany the things stolen from him. And finally, after a few more agonizing seconds, he is released. Vahkul falls, head first, into the ground. His lips are blue and his forehead is bruised black with frostbite. But his mind is clear.

‘Give this to her.’

He shakes his head.

‘Just one dose is all she’ll need.’

He smashes his eyes closed, the thudding pain still not enough to take his memories away. Only the empress could do that.

‘Send her on her way.’

No. He curls into himself.

‘She’s close.’

A hollow sob falls from his lips.

‘Leave when the shifts turn .’

It can’t be.

‘She has eyes the color of the moon.’

He would never.

‘All it will take is a little patience.’

If he believed his Gods could help him now, he would pray.

‘In a months time… we will come for her and you.’