The short walk in the breezy evening left Cadryn with a chill and a thin sheen of sweat at the nape of his neck. Wiping at it, his fingers brushed against the edge of growing hair, something to fix before Sefton noticed. Above, the sky was mostly hidden behind slate grey clouds. The setting sun, now no longer visible, became a red glowing like coals, but, mocked him with their lack of warmth. Moving into the dimness of the Redoubt, a radiating chill like stepping in a winter puddle splashed up his wounded leg and the fear of the night arose unbidden.

The thought of darkness set an unease loose in Cadryn’s vitals, his mind slipping back to the starless night. All around him, the growing shadows of evening took on fiendish qualities: the dancing branches of the Uppers Gardens were tendrils of death reaching for his flesh, the cloaked alcoves of passageways became slowly pulsating maws. He put up the hood to ward off the illusions, and kept his eyes down until arriving at the door he sought, a soft golden light spilling from the jamb.

Unlike the cold sky, the Alchemist’s lair of Korbinian Drast issued forth a hazy breath of hot dry air as Cadryn pulled open the door. Inhaling deeply, he crossed the threshold and waited for his vision to settle. The laboratory, ever evolving, possessed a new layout since the last visit. Less chaotic now, the alchemy supplies: drying roots, herbs, banks of flasks, and multiple cauldrons all dominated the smaller space near the door. It felt like stepping into a very odd kitchen, but the heat of the fire and smell of spices ripped Cadryn from the dark and thrust him right back to his childhood home.

“Close the door, would you? I don’t need that salt air off the ocean messing up my work again,” Korbinian called out from somewhere deeper in the series of rooms.

“Apologies,” Cadryn called back, pulling the door tight at his heels. Moving into the room, he paused to peek at the contents of one of the burbling vats, saw potatoes, carrots, a sprig of something green, and the ribs of a large fish. His mouth watering, a loud growl rumbled from his stomach.

“Feel free to a bowl,” Korbinian said, now visible as he emerged from the nearest doorway. The man seemed different, his skin ashen, the usually glistening multi-colored braids were dry and coming loose of their twists. Their eyes met, and there was an exhaustion that spoke of too little sleep in the past days.

“You should have some too, from the look of it,” Cadryn said firmly as he retrieved a pair of bowls from the shelf beside the hearth. Ladling a large spoonful into the first, he held it out for Korbinian.

“Aye dear Cadryn, I should,” Korbinian replied and, setting down a worn tome, reached for the pro-offered bowl, “but maybe I should do that.”

“I think I’m well enough to ladle out some soup,” Cadryn replied, and turning back to the stove, began to do just that.

“You really shouldn’t be so close to an open flame,” Korbinian muttered, as he dragged a chair out from the table. “It’s not going to like it.”

The cold returned to the cozy room, and Cadryn stopped mid pour. “What’s not going to like it?” he asked in a whisper, turning his head slowly to face the table.

The alchemist merely puffed at his soup, the firelight dancing in his friendly eyes.

His answer came in the form of a sensation: cooled wax melting from a dipped finger when brought back to the flame. Cadryn looked down at his wounded leg and, from the hem of his trouser leg, a thick mass of black wax oozed, shiny in the red light of the coals. Quickly stepping back, his heart went berserk as the mass began to twist and writhe, retreating from the heat and light. Staggering backward to fall awkwardly into the chair Korbinian kicked out for him. His bowl clattering to the floor, forgotten, Cadryn started to tear at his belt.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Korbinian said, taking a moment to slurp greedily from his bowl, “it’s already agitated from the fire.”

“IT,” Cadryn hissed, “What ‘it’.”

“The living shadow, you know, from the other night?”

“Oh, I recall.”

“Good, I was worried your memory might not be intact for a moment there,” Korbinian said brightly, and, examining his now empty bowl, got up to refill it. Doing so, he also retrieved Cad’s bowl and filled both of them, two long fingers holding each deftly by the rim.

Cadryn watched him, suddenly wary of the man, examining him again revealed a new detail: his heavy woolen cloak, now pockmarked with grey-edged burns akin to the sort the shadows left on his own clothing during the attack. “You’ve been studying those things.”

“Of course,” Korbinian replied, and turning back to the table, set a bowl down for each of them. “They’re fascinating. Thankfully a few made it into my traps before Mareth smoked them all with the beacon.”

“A few,” Cadryn muttered, dumbstruck. Whirling in his chair, he stared into the darkness of the doorway to the rest of the labs, and listening was sure he could hear their guttural growling.

“Relax, most of them died during my experimenting, a shame really, and now I only have the one exemplar. Well, and that success,” he added, pointing at Cad’s leg.

Nausea welled up in Cadryn, if he’d actually eaten any soup it might have come up. Slowly he exhaled, and forcing his body to be still, began to roll up his pants leg. In the low light, the borders of his wound were a deep, purplish, black. As he exposed it, the skin that was not his own began to move, and shrink upward, away from the light and warmth. He realized now that the cold sensation on that leg had never fully faded even after coming indoors again. Swallowing down bile, he touched it with a finger, felt the cold slide upward as it spread up to the first knuckle. Flinching, he pulled it back.

“Why, in the name of the Divine Paradox, would you do this?” Cadryn asked.

Korbinian Drast seemed consider several responses, pausing just before speaking at least twice, then shrugged.

“If I’m being honest,” he said at last, “I did it because I could.”

“Was there not, some, less extreme option?”

“Always,” Korbinian said waving a finger, “there’s always some half-measure that will put off the wolves until tomorrow.” He brushed his hands together, as if removing the notion from his person, and stood, stretching with a series of loud pops. “I could have crafted some sort of concoction to alleviate the symptoms: the pain, the rotting, and the awareness of a slow death. Any Imperial Alchemist worthy of the title could do such.”

“But you didn’t,” Cadryn replied, his rage barely contained.

“I did not,” Korbinian admitted, nodding to himself.

“Then, what. Did, you do?”

“I was not expelled from the Academy of Alchemists for half-measures, Cadryn Bence,” Korbinian replied evenly, and pointing at the mass of alien flesh continued, “That, is no half-measure. That is a complete solution.”

“It’s an abomination,” Cadryn managed, shoving his clothing back in place to conceal it.

“You mean that it is ugly, unappealing, and frightening. Perhaps so, but it will keep you alive, prevent your decline, and allow you to forge ahead. You may dislike it now, but in time you’ll see I made the right decision.”

Horrified, dizzy, and feeling suffocated by the aromatic, hot, air. Cadryn fled the man and his words, staggering into the sharp night air and slamming the door behind. Above the eyes of the starts greeted him, and he felt a comforting, coolness sweep up from his wounded leg. It left him no longer angry, and feeling, if anything, revitalized.

Inside his lab, surrounded by the shadows of the dying cook fire, Korbinian Drast smiled to himself as he cleaned up. They never understood at first, after such conversations, for the insane are incapable of following the perfect reason. That is, until it they see it for themselves. Turning from fire, he collected the uneaten bowl of soup from the table.

“Oh well, more for me.”