Tiffany awoke in the middle of the night, as indicated by the pitch black both in and out. As usually happened when she slept in an unfamiliar bed—which wasn't very often, mind—there was a moment of panic as her brain adjusted to the surroundings. It passed soon enough, however, and the blonde remembered she was still in the Bellor farmhouse. Her party decided to stay the night there, which she had been opposed to, but everyone else seemed greatly enthused by the idea so she went along with it.

She quickly took stock of her environment to figure out why she woke up. First, a quick physical examination. Potty break? No. Anything asleep? No. How about sore? No. Okay, hearing check. She couldn't hear anything loud or otherwise intrusive. As for smell, other than the faint smell of chickens—a scent she only just became familiar with—which permeated the entire home, it smelled like nothing at all. So, this must've been just one of those random awake moments everyone had from time to time. Lovely.

A glance to the left revealed through the shadows an empty side of the bed, the covers pulled back past halfway. Since the Bellor son's room already belonged to a boy, the male members of the party decided to take it, leaving the women with the guest room. Now, Tiffany would've been fine sleeping on the floor, but Ylva simply wasn't having it. Through quite a bit of convincing, Tiffany acquiesced to share the single bed with her fellow woman. It would've felt like a childhood sleepover, if not for the swords, armor, a chicken scent.

Tiffany leaned up in bed. It was dark, of course, so she couldn't really see anything past a few inches. Still, nothing in the room obviously moved, which she took to mean Ylva was no longer there. The blonde put herself in a full sit. She took a deep breath and gave her left arm a little stretch. Doing so caught the faintest whiff of a burning candle. From there, putting two and two together wasn't necessarily difficult.

She exited the room and felt her way down the hall. The layout of the home was thankfully simple, so she didn't have to worry about getting lost. A right turn and then all the way down the narrow passage led her to the stairs, which she took very slowly. She never really liked stairs during the daytime, and even less when they were hard to see.

Turning back the other way led her through the family room. She vaguely remembered the layout, where the sofa, rocking chair, coffee table, and fire place were. An attempt was made on her part to thread the gap between the sofa and coffee table. A bump of her thigh into the seat indicated her miserable failure. At least the sound wasn't loud enough to wake anyone up, probably.

From there, Tiffany focused on where the doorway to the kitchen was, beyond which she spotted a faint flickering glow. Following it through the entry found what she sought. Ylva sat alone at the dining table, facing the front door, chin cradled in her palm, a lit candle on a pewter stand to her left. She gave no indication as Tiffany entered that she knew anyone was there.

"Ylva?" The blonde tried carefully.

Ylva took a deep breath. "Hey, Tiff," she said without looking away from the door.

Tiffany bristled internally at the shortening of her name. No one called her Tiff. That was a child's name. She forced the bile down. There were more important things to worry about.

"What are you doing out here all alone?" She asked.

"Thinking," Ylva replied simply.

"About what?"

"Some stuff," Ylva continued to be infuriatingly vague. She slightly pulled out a chair to her right. "Don't just stand around, there. Have a seat."

Tiffany hesitated, but took a seat. There was silence between them for a moment. Ylva clearly wasn't feeling very good. No one sat alone with a candle in the middle of the night if they were happy. But what should she say? How could Tiffany get through to her, whatever she needed help with?

"Do..." God, she wasn't good at this. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Not really," Ylva frowned and shook her head.

Tiffany gazed at the table. That didn't work. What was her plan B? Luckily, she didn't need one.

"It's just—" Ylva began, then let out the rest of her breath. "I was thinking about the fight."

"The fight?" Tiffany wondered aloud. "What's wrong about that? We won, didn't we?"

"You guys won. I'm not so sure I did."

"I... don't think I follow," Tiffany said.

"I mean, think about our last fight in comparison with the one before it," Ylva said. "I dominated against the rats and the crazy guy, but I couldn't do anything to the wolves. I carried our first fight, but I got carried through this one."

"That's not true at all—" Tiffany began to protest.

"But it is! I didn't kill anything, couldn't protect Hector like I was supposed to, got knocked down twice, and was healed twice. The entire team had to adjust their strategy to make up for my mistakes, and how did I repay them? I got knocked out. I really—what's the term? I really dropped the ball."

"Literally no one thinks that," Tiffany countered. "I don't, and I'm sure the boys don't, either."

"I'm sure they appreciate you speaking for them," Ylva snarked.

Tiffany sighed. "Do you remember what you said to me, when I lost it back in that basement?"

"I said a lot of things to you," Ylva remarked. "Sorry, by the way. I shouldn't have kicked you."

"We survive together," Tiffany quoted. "You said we're a team. The success of this party isn't just your responsibility."

"It kind of is, though. I'm the only one with real combat experience, the only one who's been in a fight with real metal weapons. That's why I have to lead you guys, and I can't do that from the ground."

"But you do lead us," implored Tiffany. "As far as I'm concerned, you're the closest thing we have to a leader. You carried us through both fights with the rats. The formation we used this time was your idea. So you got knocked down, so what? That's why the rest of us are here, to pick you up."

Ylva had no reponse to that. She looked away from Tiffany and instead seemed to evaluate the texture of the table top. Tiffany wasn't sure if she should, but the blonde decided to fill the silence with more of her own words.

"In high school, my cheer coach always emphasized the importance of working together. Everyone has their own job in a routine. If they don't do it, no matter how small, the entire thing falls apart. We had to depend on each other, to trust each other. I really don't understand any of this," Tiffany made a floppy gesture meant to encompass the whole world, "but I don't see why it has to be any different."

Ylva smirked. "It makes perfect sense that you were a cheerleader," she joked. "Let me guess, you were a flyer?"

"Ha ha," Tiffany mocked. "I'm small, I get it, how funny. But yes, I was," she said with a grin. "The point I'm trying to make is, you're not in this alone. I think it's okay to depend on your teammates."

"You're right," Ylva said after a moment. "And I know you're right. I've been trying to tell myself that for the past hour, but I guess I needed to hear it from someone else. So, thanks."

"Of course."

"I guess this makes us even, now," Ylva said. "I helped you out of a funk, and now you've helped me. We're one for one."

"Yeah. Or, we could just not keep track," suggested Tiffany.

"That works, too." Ylva gave a big yawn and stretched, which Tiffany had to admit was adorable. "Fuck I'm tired. I'm going back to bed."

"That sounds amazing," agreed Tiffany.

"Thanks again, Tiff."

"You're welcome."

Ylva pinched out the candle and both of them made their ways through the dark up to their temporarily shared abode. Tiffany didn't even mind the use of the unwanted nickname. Maybe, coming from certain people, it wasn't so bad.

…

Sunrise found them on their way back to Trostenwald. Hector had gotten them up as the sun had just started to rise. He wanted to make it back to town before they lost too much daylight, and Brian silently agreed with him, though he would've appreciated a few more hours of sleep. Regardless, after a quick breakfast of bread and the freshest eggs he'd ever had, they were off.

The trip back was uneventful as their journey from town the day prior. The roads so close to a major trading hub were well guarded, as they should be. The party passed no less than three Righteous Brand patrols, their plate over red outfits and long mail hauberks. Each of them contained around four or five soldiers, but one had eight with an officer on horseback. Brian assumed him to be an officer, anyway. Otherwise, why would he be the only one with a mount?

The teams' first stop back in town was to sell the wolf pelts to that coat maker Ylva mentioned. Good riddance, really. Brian didn't say anything for the feelings of his party member, but he'd grown tired of the smelly things within a few minutes of carting them around. The sooner they were rid of them, the better. They needed to invest in either a cart or a bag of holding as a way to avoid this sort of thing in the future.

After a little bit of haggling, the regular wolf pelts sold for ten gold, while the dire wolf skin went for seventy. The resulting one-hundred thirty gold were split evenly amongst the members. Brian hoped for more, but certainly knew better than to turn his nose up at twenty-six new coins.

Their next stop was back at the guild hall to turn in the contract to Edgar. After a question to quartermaster Therdin, they found the old man in his quarters. Brian had a feeling this was where they would usually talk to Edgar. He probably didn't leave much. Hector stepped forward an knocked on the door.

"Enter," came the immediate response from within. Hector led the way inside.

The room looked almost identical to the last time Brian saw it, complete with Edgar sitting at the same desk just beyond the entrance, pouring over some tome with a quill and ink scribbling notes on a separate piece of paper.

"Ah, back already," Edgar said, turning to face them in his seat. "You're well within the expected timetable."

"Yeah, well, we got lucky," Calvin said. "Made the wolves come to us."

"There's no such thing as luck, boy," Edgar said. "But, I take it to mean you completed the contract?"

"Yes, we did." Hector handed the rolled up parchment to Edgar, who took it without a word. He unrolled it to have a look.

"This Fredwick fellow has atrocious handwriting," Edgar remarked. "Regardless, his signature is binding. Well done." The contract glowed purple then dissolved into ash, leaving Brian to once again wonder what exactly happened to it. "The prize is twelve hundred gold pieces. Use them as you see fit."

Edgar reached into a sleeve and pulled out a much larger coin purse than last time they'd all been down this road. He placed it on the far corner of his desk. Tiffany, as the closest, shatched it up, visibly shaken for a moment at the weight of it.

"Twelve hundred?" Calvin remarked with wide eyes. "That's one stacked farmer if he can pay twelve hundred for a few wolves."

"The Bellor family only paid three hundred," Edgar explained. "The rest was provided by our sponsors throughout Exandria, a stipend provided by the Empire for helping keep the peace, and a little from our own coffers. Most contracts are paid in this way."

"You have sponsors?" Brian asked.

"We do," Edgar nodded. "Several wealthy families and organizations donate to our cause. We keep them safe, and they help us provide the means of doing so. It is a mutually beneficial relationship."

"Makes sense to me," Hector shrugged.

"So," Edgar brought things back on track. "Now that your current contract is complete, take a little time to rest. I can have something for you in another week."

"No." Ylva stepped forward, separating herself from the group. "We talked about it as a group, and we want to go back out as soon as possible. We still want an audience with the Meister, and if the only way to do that is to rise through the ranks in the Guild, then that's what we want to do."

"Very well," Edgar said without missing a beat. "I'm sure I can find something for you in the next few days, then."

"Thank you."

"Now, if there's nothing else, you may be dismissed."

There was nothing else, so they were dismissed.

On the way back to the rooms, Brian was struck by how unmoved he felt. They just successfully journeyed out of town, completed a mission, and reaped the rewards from it, yet inside he was almost completely calm. All he really wanted to do was kick back, take off his armor, and unwind for a bit.

Without the foreboding sense of mystery surrounding their first mission, he wasn't anxious. Without the exhilaration of his first ever fight, he wasn't keyed up. Without having went unconscious, he wasn't afraid. Brian felt next to nothing at all. Indeed, it reminded him greatly of coming home on Friday after a long week at work.

He hated it. Brian didn't want to get used to this. He didn't want to be an adventurer. There was, yes, a part of him that thrilled at the prospect of going on quests and fighting monsters, and he pushed it down every single day. More than anything, he just wanted to go home, like everyone else who'd been forcibly taken from Earth. So why was he settling in? It was only the second ever successful mission, and third ever victory. Why did it feel so routine?

Brian made it back to the room he shared with the other men on his team. Instead of taking the armor off, he climbed up on his bunk and just sat there for a while. It would take him a long time to reset his head space, to make a return to his overarching goal of making it back home in one piece. No matter what, he refused to get swept up. This place, amazing as it was, would never take over him. If it did, would he forget about his real home? That prospect terrified him to his very core. He was Brian Jeffries, single accountant born and raised in New York. He needed to remember that, lest he forget his entire goal for Exandria, lest he no longer want to escape.