That night, in Claine’s room. Four adventurers discuss Vesta’s offer.

“Y’all wanna go?” the room’s owner asks to everyone’s nods. With a despondent look on her face, she continues, “But, Sid…our date.”

A little embarrassedly in front of Claine’s puppy-eyes, Sid tries to placate her. “Aw, don’t worry. We can do that later. There’s no rush, no rush at all. Besides,” she gives a wide grin to Claine, “I reckon this’d give you more time to think about where you’ll take me.”

Claine’s face rapidly begins to flush. “I—”

Sid raises a hand to cut her off. “I’m flattered and I think it’s cute, but you don’t have to try and lie to me. Don’t have to lie at all.”

Claine gulps. “…I’m sorry. I guess I weren’t…I dunno why I said it’s a secret. No, I do know. I’m an idiot and I panicked.”

“Oi! Don’t call my girlfriend an idiot, or I’ll get mad!” exclaims Sid, with mock indignation.

Claine smiles a little at this. Then she gathers her courage and suggests, “Can ye—do ye wanna decide where to go to together?”

“Sure! I thought you’d never ask,” replies Sid with a broad smile.

This serves to make Zavelle’s feel even more uncomfortable than she already was. Teeth, what a concept. She turns to watch Sammy, trying to pretend she’s not hearing the couple. The [Paladin] in question, on the other hand, does not appear bothered at all. He’s lazily scanning the room, nodding to himself about something.

After a moment, the disaster couple (really, only one half of it) seems to settle down. Sammy grunts, “You done?”

Claine’s peeved. “Aye, Sammy. We’re done. I’ll come with. I gotta say, I’m disappointed ye’d break yer promises.”

The tall man raises an inquisitive eyebrow at Claine.

“I told ye not to spread it around. I get that it’s better this way, but ye could’ve talked to me before tellin’ her,” she gives a nod towards Sid.

“Now let me stop you right there,” the noddee tells the nodder, “he didn’t tell me that. I figured it out by myself. By myself.”

“Oh. I guess I ain’t much of a liar. Sorry, Sammy. Shouldn’t’ve doubted ye.”

“It’s all good,” he utters.

“Now!” Sid claps her hands together. “If we’re going on a tenday journey together, how about we share some information? Levels, classes, what we can do, and so on. If you’re comfortable with it, I mean.”

Sid looks at everyone, seeing if they’re fine with it. “Zavelle? You look uneasy. If you don’t want to, you don’t have to.”

The green woman startles, “Oh, no…I was just…” spiraling into a pit of bodily sensations “…it’s nothing. I don’t mind…sharing my classes.”

Sid shakes her head. “It’s obviously not nothing, but if you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t want to talk about it. That’s fine, but if you need any help or an ear to listen, I’m here for you.”

“M-Me too,” Claine chimes in.

Sammy joins the fray. “Same.” He waits for a beat, and then offers to go first. “I’ll start. A-class, [Seeker of Origins]. Level 6. Mostly synergistic. B-class, [Paladin]. Level 19. Vanguard Skills, no spells.”

Claine shows no reaction—he shared this information to her years ago, and the only thing that consistently surprises her is his A-class’s slow leveling.

Sid whistles. “Ooh, a specialized class? What’s a [Seeker of Origins] do?” she asks with interest.

“Figure things out. Where they come from. How they work. The Guild rates it as ‘prodigious’. Class works weird. Keeps giving me odd Skills.”

“All Skills are…odd to me,” remarks Zavelle.

Sammy shrugs. “Most of them don’t do anything. As far as I can tell. [Minute Origin – Ice]. Got it from watching a lake freeze. With a dwarven thermometer in it. Never got any ice Skills.”

“Aye, and all I got that day was a cold. The things I do for yer stupid class,” Claine harrumphs.

The [Seeker of Origins]-cum-[Paladin] continues. “Some are good. Helped at a smithy for a month once. Got [Lesser Origin – Steel]. It’s helped me get better [Paladin] skills. I’ve got another lesser one too. For swords. Today, I got [Minute Origin – Glochidia]. Don’t even know what a glochidia is.”

“Oh,” Zavelle brightens up. “Those are the tufts of tiny spines on some…cacti. They look fuzzy but are actually really…sharp and barbed.”

Sammy goes huh, while Claine has a more nuanced reaction. “Ye sure know yer plants. Impressive.”

“I wouldn’t say that…I just find them…sympathetic.”

This elicits three (3) confused stares from the rest of the group. Zavelle takes a deep breath and continues hesitantly. “As you know, I’m a…[Demon] first and foremost. Level 1, of course. And that my C-class is…[Medic]. It’s only level 5, but…that’s what gives me [Benefic].“

Sid nods repeatedly. “Yeah, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve heard Vesta explain what you can and can’t heal. Diseases and anything your body can heal at its best, no poisons or grievous wounds.”

“Yes…there’s a bit of leeway and…individual variation, but…that’s basically it. Don’t get…gored or lose body parts.”

“That’s sorta how we’ve done it so far, aye,” Claine remarks, deadpan. “Lemme guess, yer B-class is [Kineticist]. That’s how ye made the door not budge yesterday.”

“No, actually…it’s [Druid],” Zavelle reveals her class.

“Eh?” ”[Druid]?” ”Hrm,” the three react in their own ways.

Before anyone can ask further questions, the demon walks up to Claine’s nightstand and explains.

“It’s probably faster if I…show you.” She places a hand on the solid wooden surface and closes her eyes. Everyone waits with mild anticipation. “[Lesser Revitalize Plant],” she activates a Skill. Nothing happens. The three onlookers let out a breath they didn’t realize they were holding.

“[Plantguide],” at Zavelle’s word, roots like vines spring out of the tabletop, coiling around her olive hand and up her arm towards her head.

“Hrm.” “Did you just—” “What in the hells?” the three react with surprise again, but this time with more shock. Except Sammy, whose hrm takes the tone of an academical professor.

Zavelle shrugs; one shoulder she moves by herself, the other shoulder is helped by the root-vines. “I understand it’s…an unusual Skill. Vesta threw her…hands up in disgust, complaining about…’demon stuff’…when I showed it to her.”

Claine’s completely bug-eyed. “Unusual doesn’t cut it. Reviving anything is straight up mythical. Do ye understand the potential of this?”

“…Vesta concluded that it’s not as…revolutionary as it seems… The Skill doesn’t work on…anything magical or…sentient. The plant can’t…reproduce, and it doesn’t live for long,” the demon [Druid] explains with some sadness as the root’s tip scratches behind her ear.

“Hrm. Situational at best. Novelty at worst,” concludes Sammy.

Zavelle smiles and gently strokes the roots as they recede back into the nightstand, like they were growing in reverse. “Yes…but it can root down a…door in a pinch.”

“Ha!” Sid gives her own thigh a strong slap, wincing a little from the sting and looking regretful for what she’s done, “Ow. Boy, am I regretting that I didn’t bet on you using a spell to do it!”

“Um…those were both Skills, not spells…”

“Ha!” Sid gives her thigh a slap again, “Ouch! Why do people do this? That’s it, no more slapping myself. Boy, am I glad I didn’t bet on you using a spell to do it!” She earns weird looks from Sammy and Zavelle, plus a shy smile from Claine.

“Anyhow,” the redhead remarks, ”here I thought I was the one with a unique Skill. But let me start from the top,” she stands exaggeratedly straight and performs a theatrical bow.

“Sidney, daughter of Esther. The less spoken of my father, the better. Level 17 [Honest Thief] extraordinaire, and level 4 [Brawler]. The latter class is probably not a keeper, if I’m being honest. And you can always trust that I am!” she snickers.

Sammy’s curiosity is piqued. “[Honest Thief]. Is that a modified class?”

“Sure is, I swear by the spirits!” Sid exclaims with a hand on her heart.

“What’s it do? Make you honest?”

“Sammy, friend. I’ve always been honest. Don’t need no class for that. No, it seems to make people believe in my honesty more easily. I’ve not found much use for the modifier—[Honest Covert Strike] or [Honest Dirty Trick] are about as useful as they sound. I prefer to use the unmodified Skills.“

Sid turns to Claine, giving her a sly look. “The best part about the class came when I first got it. It’s a skill called [Truth-Telling], and it does two things.” She waits for a moment, then steps closer to the spellcaster. “First, I can’t lie. I don’t mean that I’m bad at it, I mean I cannot do it. So, when I tell you that you’re cute,” she strokes Claine’s chin with her fingers, making her look like she’s overheating, “you can believe it.”

Zavelle sighs and looks away awkwardly. Sammy charges through, saying, “Hrm. That sounds bad for a thief.”

“You’d be surprised! Some misdirection and strategical truths go a long way. A long, long way. For example, what I just said…no, wait, first things first.“ Her hand moves smoothly from Claine’s chin to her temple, brushing her raven hair aside. Sid then whispers something straight into Claine’s ear. The already blushing woman blushes further, so hard one wonders how the human body can have so much spare blood to dedicate into the reddening of countenance.

Even Sammy feels a little awkward from watching this. Luckily for him, Sid returns to the topic.

“Sorry, just wanted to clear something up in advance. Anyhow, misdirection, misdirection. Did you notice anything odd about my earlier compliment towards Claine?“

The [Paladin] ponders for a moment. “Wasn’t technically a compliment. If I’m not mistaken.”

“Right on, friend. I said that she can believe it when I call her cute, and that’s true. I implied it heavily, but implications or omissions aren’t truth or lies.“

“So, she’s not cute,” concludes Sammy.

“No no, as I just told her, she’s—”

“Sid!” Claine interrupts the conversation. “D-Don’t repeat it, or I’m gonna die of embarrassment!” She looks like she’s about to melt into a puddle and slink through the floor cracks.

Sid relents. “Okay, sweetie. You’re adorable.”

“I—oh spirits, so are you,” replies Claine, rendering Sid stiffer than usual.

“Uh, um.” A faint flush finds its way to the thief’s face. “Thanks, sweetie. Is ‘sweetie’ fine? I’m trying it out,” she hastily asks, trying to regain her practiced poise.

“S-Somethin’ is odd about it, but I like it,” Claine says, dazed.

An awkward moment passes. Zavelle, staring out of the window. Sammy, expecting Sid to continue. Sid and Claine gazing at each other. Someone should say something. The moment grows longer and longer. Someone really should say something, this is getting unbearable. But Claine’s too busy trying not to melt. Zavelle’s trying to astrally project herself elsewhere without the required Skills. Sid forgot what she was talking about. Thus, the unenviable task of interrupting the fledgling lovers falls to Sammy.

So, he does it. “And the other thing?”

“Hm? Oh, right. It lets me know when others are telling the truth. Probably should’ve led with that.”

“But…lie detection Skills…don’t exist,“ Zavelle rejoins the conversation.

Sid shrugs. “They say the same thing about revival Skills, don’t they? Vesta hadn’t heard of a ‘honest’ modifier before, so maybe I’m the first one to have it. Wouldn’t surprise me, since people lie a lot, and as far as I can tell, I got it by having never told a lie in my life. Not a single one, no ma’am.”

Something about this bothers Sammy, but he can’t quite figure out what. Claine’s got questions, though.

“That’s revolutionary, ain’t it? If ye can tell when anyone’s lyin’, then…”

“Ehh.” Sid wobbles her hand in a so-so gesture. “Not really. Sure, I could prove that I can detect lies. But I can’t prove that I’m honest. Who’s going to believe a [Thief] in court? Other people need to get the Skill first. Also, I’d rather not sit in some dusty office talking to prisoners all day for the rest of my life. That or get assassinated for being a liability.”

“She’s got a point. Society’s built on lies,” Sammy mutters in a strange fugue state of awake subconsciousness, almost but not quite able to recall something of dire importance.

“Nah, I wouldn’t go that far. Either way, the Skill’s quite fun. I knew you were lying when you said our date’s destination’s a secret. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why, sweetie.”

Claine buries her face in her sleeves, leaving the redness of her face a mystery to none, as even the most unobservant would notice a pattern by now. The others give her a moment to recover. She then begins to explain her class.

“I only got me one class, um.” Claine hesitates. “I’m a…[Wizard-…” her voice gradually trails off into silence. Sid, with her sharp ears and [Keen Hearing] struggles to hold in her joy.

Zavelle doesn’t catch her class. “…I’m sorry…could you…repeat that?”

“…pirate. [Wizard-Pirate], level 28,” she repeats in a shaky voice.

“Ahaha! Yarr, I knew it! Plunder and booty!” Sid breaks into a riotous laughter.

“Nonono! I’m tellin’ ye, I was a privateer! It’s just—one nation’s privateer is another’s pirate, it’s a whole thing, there’s no [Privateer] class, I was gonna get rid of it but then it merged with me A-class, I wouldn’t ever, I mean, I ain’t a—” a thousand excuses start to flow out of Claine’s mouth like rum from a tapped barrel.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Sid puts a hand on Claine’s shoulder to reassure her. “Don’t worry about it. Spirits know I’ve done a lot of shitty things in my past,” she says with a laugh. Although it’s hardly a laughing matter, it’s eases Claine enough that she lets out a nervous chuckle and continues.

“Aye… Anyroad, we ain’t goin’ sailin’, so [Concealed Weapon – Sharp] is probably me only relevant [Pirate] skill. I cast more like a level 20 pure [Wizard] than a level 28 one, but I think me spells are alright. Mostly typical wizardry for utility and defense. For offense, I got a second-tier damage spell and an [Anima] variant.”

“Claine. They’re not [Wizards]. Explain [Anima],” Sammy reminds her.

“Ah. It’s a—no, I guess I’m also better off showin’ this.”

With that, Claine walks up to a chest at the end of her bed and opens it. She digs through it but doesn’t find what she’s looking for.

“Huh. Did the lass take all of ‘em?” she asks, expecting no one to answer.

But Sammy does, “Probably. Saw a familiar pile downstairs.”

“Bummer. I guess I’m just explainin’ then,” Claine says while giving a bizarrely intensive look to Sammy. He completely disregards it, walks up to Claine’s bed, then grabs something from under the quilt and tosses it to Claine, who catches it.

It is a stuffed animal. A shabby little feline creature, a sewed mismatch of brown and white patches of cloth with buttons for eyes and six thick thread whiskers on its cheeks. Claine opens and closes her mouth repeatedly, not a word coming out.

“Aww! Who’s this little fella?” asks Sid, positively beaming at the fabric beast.

The local [Wizard-Pirate] keeps the fish-on-dry-land imitation going on. Sammy, a little grumpy about how he has to carry the entire conversation today, explains.

“I don’t think she names them. She’s got more. But that’s Claine’s oldest friend. She can’t sleep without it. One time, we forgot it in an inn. The next night—”

“[Disorient].” A ripple in the air moves from Claine’s extended left hand to Sammy, impacting him straight in the chest. Then he simply stands there stuck mid-sentence, hiccups, and continues his thought. And some other thoughts, while he’s at it. Or why not all of the thoughts at once? That’s a good idea.

“I saw a waterfall once. Hi Zavelle. Didn’t see you there. I’m hungry. Good night, mother.”

Sammy dives into Claine’s bed and immediately begins snoring. Zavelle looks disturbed, Sid highly amused.

“Hey! I wanted to hear the rest, sweetie,” she says.

Claine, still holding the stuffed animal, sighs. “I’ll tell ye someday. I just…I don’t wanna have him gossipin’ about me. Look. [Astron’s Anima],” upon her spell, the toy in her right hand changes. It grows in size, becoming the length of Claine’s entire forearm. The patchwork body swells, the tail whisks, the button-eyes dart around; the doll tears open its stitched mouth and lets out a low growl as it leaps off from Claine’s hand.

She adopts a scholarly tone as she begins explaining. “[Anima] spells are used to bring golems to life. [Astron’s Anima] is a variant that ain’t channeled, so I can have it runnin’ with other spells,” she gives a nod towards Sammy, rolling around armored in her bed, “It also enhances the frame’s physique, as ye saw. Finally, it gives the golems rudimentary self-direction, meanin’ I don’t gotta manually control everythin’. But I can, if I wanna.”

The textile terror dashes up to Sid, balances itself upright on two legs, and gives her leg a hug.

“D’aww! It’s lovely!” she exclaims and crouches to pick up the doll.

Claine finishes her explanation. “Drawbacks include the spell’s short duration, no inherited castin’ ability, bein’ real easy to dispel, and me havin’ to craft the frames personally.”

Sid’s amazed. “Wow, you made this yourself? Yourself! It’s so well done!”

“T-Thanks, I, um. Me mother taught me to sew. I was gonna be a [Seamstress] but then the life of wizardry chose me.”

“Huh. Ain’t that something. Wait—shouldn’t you have a class for that?”

“It’s a long story. Short version: weird magic teacher wanted her students to focus on spellcraft.”

Sid pets the cloth creature, which purrs in an uncanny manner. It doesn’t bother her. “There, there, good kitty. You said these were for offense?” she asks inquisitively.

“Aye. Can ye move yer hands off for a moment?”

Sidney does. There’s a slash-thunk as sharp iron claws pierce out of the doll’s paws, digging a bit into the floorboards. Sid’s eyes practically glimmer, and she exclaims, “Whoa! That’s incredible! This thing’s amazing!”

A little shyly, Claine agrees. “A-Aye, I like ‘em too.”

“You have to teach me how to make these, sweetie!”

“I, um, sure. The blade thing uses my [Pirate] Skill, but if ye w-want—” as Claine begins to stammer again, Zavelle coughs. Both Sid and Claine turn to her and realize that they’re supposed to be in the middle of Important Adventurer Business™.

“I’m…sorry, but could you two…flirt later? When we’re…done with this?”

“Oh, sorry—” “I wasn’t—” the two speak over each other, then both interrupt themselves.

Zavelle continues. “It’s just…weird to be here while you do it. You probably…would prefer to not have…distractions anyway. And could you…rouse Sammy?”

Claine blinks and glances over at the [Paladin] having a nightmare. He’s babbling to himself about buckets. Relaxing for a moment, she lets the spell dissipate.

Sammy startles awake, cold sweat on his forehead. Slowly, his head turns to face towards Sid.

“Sid. You can’t lie. The bucket.” His voice begins trembling. “You actually sold the bucket. I thought you made it up. A strange story. To sell the crazy adventurer role.”

Sid guffaws, while Sammy looks at his hands, void in his gaze, all hope in the world lost.

Zavelle sighs. Her staunchest ally of convenience in this group, the voice of guidance has been defeated. It falls to her to keep the forces of chaos at bay.

“So…five days there, five days back. What…supplies do we need? Does anyone have any…wilderness survival skills?”

Back on track, the four continue to discuss what comes next.

⁂

In another room that same night, an elf finishes reading a bedtime story to a horned girl, smaller than ever.

“…and when all hope seemed lost, Seraphinus’s mighty blow struck down the [Evil King], bringing peace to the war-torn land,” Vesta narrates the particular tale to its end.

This hasn’t pacified Drava at all; the girl remains a bundle of energy even in her bed. “The [Hero]’s so cool! [Radiant Slash]!” the child gleefully swings her right arm in a wide arc, most likely cutting down imaginary soldiers.

“Now, now, Drava, settle down. Are you feeling sleepy yet?” asks Vesta with faint dark rings under her eyes. Although the answer is obvious.

“Nope! I wanna hear more about [Heroes]!”

Vesta rubs her tired eyes, even though she knows she shouldn’t. “Of course you do, dear. Very well. What would you like to know?”

“Umm…” The girl ponders for a moment, then asks, “Are there [Heroes] in the Guild?”

“Not to my knowledge. In fact, I’ve never met a [Hero] or even anyone who’s met one. They might not exist these days.” Drava seems let down by this, but then Vesta continues. “…But I did know a [Heroine] once.”

This brightens up the girl greatly. “Really?! What was she like?”

“She was…larger than life. Like an endless wellspring of energy, she shined brighter than anyone.” Vesta stares at the light of the candle on the nightstand, lost in memory. Drava listens intently. “Always running from one crisis to another, but still, she found the time to help the little people. When she wasn’t toppling injustice and subjugating dragons, she was finding lost children, hunting for food for the needy, mixing medicine… They don’t write stories about those parts.”

“Woooow. She sounds perfect!”

Vesta smiles in a wistful manner. “Perfect? I wish. She wanted to be, but…no one ever is. It never stopped her from trying, though. I think that was the part that drew people to her the most. Earnestly doing her best in every single thing. It encouraged others to do the same. Even me, in the end.”

“You?” Drava asks with her large blue eyes open wide—this is rather unproductive for making her fall asleep.

“Yeah. We always had the same argument. ‘Not all injustices can be toppled with spell and steel.’ For a long time, my answer to that had been ‘so why try’. Her answer was different every time. ‘So I will use my fists’, ‘but they can if we work together’, or even ‘that means you did not use enough of them’. Eventually, she wore me down.”

Still staring at the candle, Vesta doesn’t notice the determined look on Drava’s face, but continues nonetheless. “That’s what got me into this Guild business. Me, some friends, and many of the people she had helped.”

“Aunty Vesta,” the girl addresses the [Receptionist]. Vesta looks away from the flame back at Drava, who declares, “I’m gonna be a [Heroine] too!”

Vesta pats her head. “Maybe you will, dear.”

This degree of doubt doesn’t please Drava at all. She sulks, “No! I’m gonna be one! You’ll see!”

“Ah, I see. Sorry. I’m sure you will,” the elf lies with a smile.

“You still don’t believe me! Poopyhead!” Drava sulks harder.

However will Vesta recover from this grave insult? It may take centuries, but for now, she calmly replies, “Now, now. Aunty Vesta’s still a little cynical inside. But it’ll just make it sweeter when you prove me wrong, right?”

“Hmph!” The girl crosses her arms.

Vesta sighs. “Okay. Will you forgive me if I read you another story?”

“Yeah!”

Drava smiles as if her [Villainous Scheme] just worked out perfectly, while Vesta rolls her eyes and browses through the book for a shorter tale. She finds an appropriate one and reads it aloud for Drava.

The [Hero] and the [Witch of Flow]

Once upon his travels before the Gloaming, the [Hero]’s party—only three people at the time—stopped by a small riverside village. The villagers looked pale, and walked with strange, uneven gaits.

“Something’s not right here, friends,” remarked Ruby, the dwarven [Princess] and [Sharpshooter]. The instincts of the feller of a thousand beasts were not to be looked down upon, for it was only through her sage warnings that they had made it through many a peril before.

“You don’t say,” replied Venom, twirling a dagger around her fingers. As highborn elves did not name their children in the common tongue, hers was an obvious alias. Seraphinus was always too gentlemanly to pry.

“They look like dead men walking. What say I grab one and threaten to finish the job, get to the bottom of this quickly?” The elf tried to suggest an underhanded approach, as was her wont.

“No, Venom. We are in no rush. Let us talk to the villagers like civil people,” said Seraphinus, and walked gallantly ahead towards the nearest local: a gaunt old man with an unfocused gaze.

“Greetings, stranger! We are travelers looking for odd jobs and a place to rest. Might you have advice for us regarding either?” he asked the man.

“Wel-Wel-Welcome to Ri-Ri-Riversoul,” the man replied, staring right through the [Hero]. Seraphinus waited, but the man did not continue. He asked his question again, talking clearer, as perhaps this man was hard of hearing.

“Wel-Wel-Welcome to Ri-Ri-Riversoul,” he replied again. Now this was odd! Seraphinus asked if the man was alright, and got the same reply. His fairer party members, no doubt vying for his attention—

“I have to say, I do not like this storybook very much, Drava. Would you mind if I found a different one for tomorrow?” Vesta interrupts the story to ask Drava a question.

“No! I wanna hear about the [Hero],” the girl shuts her down.

“I’m sure I could find another—”

“NO!”

Slightly exasperated, Vesta surrenders. “Fine, this book it is. Continuing on.”

—no doubt vying for his attention, tried convincing the man to talk in their own ways. To no result: he simply welcomed them to the town once again.

“Okay, he’s clearly possessed, cursed, or a dimwit,” Venom commented, tossing her hands up in the air, “so let’s try a different one.”

And try they did. They asked and asked—Venom even tripped an elderly woman over to Ruby’s and Seraphinus’s cold looks, but the only thing anyone said was some variant of a greeting.

“What do you think?” asked Seraphinus of his companions.

Ruby shook her head. “I think our party needs a caster. Preferably, we swap Venom for one.”

“If anyone’s getting swapped out, it’s you, with your useless Skills and faulty contraptions,” Venom jabbed back.

This angered the proud dwarf. “They aren’t faulty! They’re the pinnacle of dwarven technology!”

“Technology that keeps failing. I’ll take a crossbow over that piece of junk any day,” Venom said, pointing at the handgonne strapped to Ruby’s back.

Seraphinus put an early end to the fight, saying, “Guys, no one is getting swapped out. Any *good* ideas?”

Yet no one had any. They walked around the town, looking for leads. Nothing. Doubt began to gnaw at the [Hero] and his companions as the sun began to set. Would they need to leave the townsmen to their fates? There was little they could do with nary a [Hedge Wizard] in the party and no leads to go on.

But that was when Ruby, ever vigilant, heard something. The faint cry of a child in the otherwise silent town! She ran, and the others ran after her.

The party came to a mansion, screens dark. Ruby barreled through them—the child had stopped crying, but this was where the sound had come from. Doors clacked and boots thumped as they checked every dim room, lit only by Seraphinus’s blade. Until behind one door they found the child, a crying girl no more than seven summers old.

Seraphinus immediately swooped next to the child, asking what’s wrong and what they could do.

“Oh [Hero], help me! Help me!” cried the child. “The evil [Witch] of the river has the entire town under her spell!

“Fear not, young one! We will save your village!” proclaimed Seraphinus. And so, the girl led them up the river to a cave where the [Witch] had made her den.

“This is where the evil [Witch] lives! Here she casts her malevolent magicks, renders doom indiscriminate upon us all!” the girl explained, pointing at the mouth of the foreboding cavern.

Venom the [Rogue], always suspicious, jabbed Seraphinus with her elbow. “This is shadier than the empty hells, don’t you think? I bet the girl’s not even real—a transformed familiar, or maybe even the [Witch] herself,” she whispered.

Ruby denied this idea. “No, I’m confident she’s what she looks like. Transformed animals or even humans have an awkwardness to their movements that you can spot if you’re careful.”

“Thank you, Ruby. I am glad for your wariness, Venom, but you should have more faith in others,” the [Hero] chastised the elf.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Fine, let’s walk into the obvious trap,” she said, checking her belt of knives and tinctures.

Seraphinus leading the three others, they stepped into the damp cave. Shadows scurried about on the walls, fleeing the radiance of the [Hero]’s blade, but never fully going away. Something rattled in the dark, startling the young girl.

“You don’t need to come with us, child. Find somewhere to hole up while we handle the [Witch],” Ruby suggested.

The girl went white in the face. “No! I must—I mean, the evil [Witch] has my parents! I can’t leave them!”

“Very well! Follow us, but stray not too far, uh…pardon me, I never asked for your name,” Seraphinus said a little embarrassedly.

“My name is Sabrina sol Xalva.”

“I am pleased to meet you, Sabrina,” the [Hero] smiled, “Rest assured, we will have your parents home safe and sound!”

The party advanced through the cave. They came to a doorway carved in stone and walked through it into a hall darker than the rest of the cave. The darkness was almost suffocating; even with the [Hero]’s blade, the group could hardly see farther than a few feet. At the end of the hall, they found a crimson altar with eerie carvings on it. Carvings that were like voids that sucked the [Hero]’s light to themselves.

But no [Witch]. Save for the altar and some pots, tables, and benches, the hall was empty. And the cave had been a simple one with no branching paths.

“There’s no one here. The girl was mistaken or lying,” Venom said. “Let’s just go to the next town and send word to the Academy. Or forget about this whole thing, preferably.”

“I heartily disagree with the latter suggestion, but Venom’s got a point with the first one. There’s nothing we can do here, so we’re just wasting time. And we don’t know how long the town has,” Ruby said.

Seraphinus thought it over. The women spoke sense, but was it truly the right thing to leave a fell caster to their own devices? To abandon the town’s innocent souls? It didn’t sit right with him. But…

“Yes. Let’s leave.”

He would trust the judgement of his companions.

The three turned to leave. But wasn’t something missing?

“Sabrina. Where’s Sabrina?” asked Ruby, halfway down the hall.

“Dunno,” Venom shrugged. “She vanished soon after we entered the cave.”

“What!? And you said nothing?” Seraphinus exclaimed. Never did he imagine that his trusted companion would let a child out of her sight in such a dangerous place.

Venom was nonchalant. “We’re walking into a trap, she’s obviously a part of the trap, what do you want from me?”

“We must find her at once!” The [Hero] broke into a run for the hall’s entryway. “A child her age in a den of evil such as this—”

“Oh, I do take offense to describing my coven in such terms…[Hero].”

A strange, warbled voice spoke. Seraphinus swung his sword, casting beams of light into the surroundings, trying to find the speaker.

“Only a coward hides in the darkness! Show yourself!” he yelled.

“Hiding in the darkness? Oh…” the voice laughed in a dissonant tone, “No, [Hero], I am the darkness.”

At that, the thick blackness surrounding them congealed into the shape of a person. Billowing clouds of the abyss turned into a beautiful woman in a black, ruffled dress. “I have no name,” she cackled and curtsied behind the altar, “but you may know me as the [Witch of Flow].”

Venom took out her daggers, while Ruby readied her handgonne—even though against a magician as strong as this, it was as likely to blow up in her own face as it was to hurt the [Witch].

As always, Seraphinus tried diplomacy first. “Lift your curse from the villagers and surrender, [Witch], and we will spare your life!”

“My curse? Ahahaha!” the [Witch]’s laughter echoed in the hall. “It is no curse, you fool. It is a blessing!”

“Oh, joy. Blessed the villagers to be imbeciles, how kind of you,” snarked Venom.

“Tut-tut, child of the woods. I would have expected one of your kind to be more observant. The villagers…are already dead,” the [Witch] declared and wheezed in laughter.

“You monster!” Seraphinus could take no more. His blade’s light grew brighter, as he delivered his speech. “Murdering an entire village? Desecrating their corpses in a mockery of life?” It illuminated the entire room now, light finding its way behind every corner and into every cranny.

The [Witch] knitted her brows. “Now hold on—” she tried to say something, but Seraphinus wouldn’t have it.

“Alas, if only your death would bring back the lives you’ve taken!”

“Listen here—” The [Witch] once again tried to talk, but couldn’t finish on account of having to dodge a dagger Venom tossed at her.

“Tch, why do they always have to be so wary,” the elf complained as she stayed back behind Seraphinus.

The [Hero] was almost done. “Let Sabrina’s parents be at peace with this! [Radiant—”

“Sabrina? Oh, for crying out loud. [Still as a Stone],” the [Witch] finished just before Seraphinus.

“—Slash!]” he yelled and swung his blade, sending a blinding arc of light towards the [Witch]. Rows of benches smashed into splinters, the altar blasted apart into chunks of stone and dust. But when the attack was about to reach the [Witch] standing behind the altar, the wave of light parted in the middle, moving harmlessly around her.

“As I expected…a village-killer would not go down so easily. But nevertheless—” now it was the [Witch]’s turn to cut off Seraphinus.

“Hold your horses, hasty boy! Sabrina! Get in here! You’re in big trouble!” she shouted in a strict, parental tone.

“Sabrina?” The name caused the [Hero] to relent for a moment, his sword’s glow dimming. Immediately, the darkness that had been banished into little crevices crawled its way back into the room, then it too congealed into a person. A smaller one the [Hero]’s party recognized.

“Riiight. Do we take down the kid too?” asked Venom, only partly serious.

Ruby gave her a blank look. “Let’s just see where this is going,” she said, but didn’t lower her weapon.

The witch looked angrily at the girl, who now looked terrified in a completely different manner from earlier. “Sabrina. What have I told you about pranking travelers?”

“But I—” the girl tried to explain.

“No buts. This was a really dangerous, stupid thing to do, do you understand?”

Sabrina looked repentant. “…Yes, master.”

“Master?” Seraphinus asked, putting his sword down but not sheathing it. “Are you saying—she’s your apprentice, but she lied about you keeping her parents here?”

The [Witch] sighed. “She’s five. Please understand.”

“But…what about the villagers? What’re you doing to them?” Ruby asked, still pointing the handgonne at the [Witch].

“I blessed them. But I suppose I should start at the beginning. Did you notice anything strange in the village? Aside from the villagers’ behavior, I mean.”

The group thought for a moment. Venom was the one to say something first.

“No young people. Everyone was elderly, except for Sabrina.”

The [Witch] nodded. “Yes. Everyone fighting fit—even the children—were levied for the war against the Demon Queen. Only the old and infirm were left.”

“That’s madness. A village can’t survive like that,” Ruby replied.

“Not for long. But it wasn’t what doomed the village—the plague did. Sabrina and I arrived here at the tail end of it.”

“…” No one had any words to say.

“The village’s headman, one of the few still alive, asked of me a favor. To ensure that the village’s young would have homes to come back to. Roofs that don’t leak, fields that aren’t dead.”

“…That’s not much without people waiting for your return,” Venom said, in an unusual example of seriousness.

“It isn’t,” the [Witch] replied. “but it’s all I could give them. I made it very clear what it would entail, with my magics. Perhaps one day I may control the flow of Life itself, to revive the dead or to be one of the few fortunate enough to seize Immortality. But such feats are still beyond me.”

“Huh,” said Seraphinus. “You were right, Ruby.”

“Hm?”

“We were just wasting time.”

And so the [Hero] Seraphinus learned of the other half of diplomacy: listening to others, while Sabrina sol Xalva learned of the dangers of pranking strangers.

“…What rubbish. Drava, please don’t believe everything that—” Glancing away from the book, Vesta breaks off when she notices that Drava’s asleep. She blinks, dumbfounded by how such a tale managed to pacify the girl, then closes the book. She’s nearly puts it on the nightstand, but then opens the book back up instead, looking for something on the opening pages. She finds it and intently focuses on the words for a while.

Only after that does she put the book down for real. Vesta stands up, moves the chair aside, and tiptoes to the other side of the room. She comes back with a bedroll, lays it on the floor, gives sleeping Drava one last look, then blows out the candle.