Snapper returned to Redwater Town in the dark hours before dawn, yet the music and cheers of a celebration shattered the usual silence at this time of night. He turned toward the noise, weaving between buildings to find the source of the commotion.

In the town square, torches were blazing over a full-scale celebration. People danced in the streets, partaking in various wines, while roadside vendors offered candies and dried snacks to the boisterous crowds. Jaunty tunes of flute and string instruments carried over the chatter of the crowd, assailing Snapper with noise on all sides. He shook his head with absolute confusion, turning left and right to take in all of the novel sights.

“What in the world is all this...?”

A nearby reveler laughed at Snapper’s ignorance. “Haven’t you heard? We caught the murderer of that village stone-carver. He is to be sentenced at dawn.”

Panic gripped Snapper. Kite had always been confident about their plans for the future, from arranging Chert’s death to gathering paperwork for the Empire’s exams. If Kite had been captured, where would that leave Snapper? He knew little of the world beyond the village, whereas Kite had connections and experience navigating everywhere between the western wilds and the eastern coast. Kite’s expertise was critical to their mission, and Snapper could not afford to lose his guide. Hoping that he had somehow misunderstood the reveler’s words, Snapper paused at a roadside stall to gather more information.

“The murderer, was he a young swordsman?” The words held more concern than Snapper had intended.

“No, no, they caught the other one. An old northern man. Red hair means he’s a northerner, you see, and those sorts don't come to Redwater often. Not since the war,” the vendor explained. “Him showing up just a day after that bounty was posted—it’s no coincidence. He must be the killer.”

Snapper thanked the vendor and left for a quieter part of town. Although he was relieved that Kite had not been captured, it also disturbed him that an innocent old man would be sentenced for Kite’s crime. Short of turning himself in to the authorities, there was nothing Snapper could do to convince the authorities of that prisoner’s innocence. However, Snapper was a Caster in a town where the majority of people lacked that power. If he took justice into his own hands, who would dare stand in his way?

As expected, breaking into the prison was a trivial matter. The guards quailed at the first sign of Snapper’s flame, and Snapper herded them into a locked cell to keep them from summoning backup. After that, he wandered through the prison, peering between the bars of every cell in search of an elderly fellow with northern looks. Most of the cells were empty, some had a few spiders or rats nesting in the corners, and one held an old man in dark green robes.

Snapper pushed back his hat to get a good look at the prisoner. The old man’s every feature was an identical image of Snapper’s own, from the northern lines of their faces to the copper tint of their hair. Snapper had seen his own reflection in the sea often enough, but recognizing that reflection on another person entirely was eerie. Only the eyes were different, and that glaring inconsistency drew all of Snapper’s attention. Where Snapper’s had always been as red as the fish he was named after, the prisoner had forest-green eyes that called to mind pines, lies, and the same profound grief that had struck when watching the stage performance two weeks previously.

The longer-than-polite moment of surprised staring also gave the prisoner a clear view of Snapper. Fear widened the unnatural green eyes of the one whom Snapper meant to rescue, breaking Snapper from his trance. An immense guilt went through him. It was bad enough that this innocent fellow had been arrested for a crime unrelated to him, but now he probably thought that Snapper was the real murderer, come to gloat over the mistaken arrest.

“There is no need to fear; I am here to help you.” As Snapper spoke, he inspected the cell door, keeping busy to avoid falling into the prisoner’s gaze again. “My name is Snapper—yes, the ‘Northern Red Snapper’ from the bounty posters. I was framed. I will not have you suffer on behalf of a crime that neither of us committed.”

The prisoner still looked wary, but he accepted this with a nod. “Well met, Snapper. Many call me the Sage Doctor.”

The name made Snapper pause. At once, all of Kite’s warnings echoed in his ears: beware the Sage Doctor; avoid the Sage Doctor; run. Snapper frowned and shook his head to clear away those memories. When faced with a feeble prisoner as old as Snapper looked, those warnings seemed utterly absurd. Sage Doctor or not, this man was in trouble only because of his resemblance to Snapper, and thus it was Snapper’s responsibility to ensure that he survived.

Summoning a ribbon of energy, Snapper cut into the door. Metal-reinforced wood yielded easily before his will, and the locking mechanism dropped to the ground. The remainder of the door swung open upon well-oiled hinges, releasing the Sage Doctor from his prison.

The Sage Doctor inched out of the cell, fidgeting with the fabric of his sleeves as he passed Snapper. The wide-sleeved design of his robes was outdated, even by Snapper’s fifty-year-past standards, but not unusual enough to draw attention in the town streets. However, the Sage Doctor’s terrified expression and telltale northern hair color would broadcast the presence of an escaped convict once they left the prison complex. As a temporary solution, Snapper offered the Sage Doctor his hat.

“To hide your hair,” Snapper explained, tying a spare handkerchief around his own head. Just to be careful, he ran his fingers across the charred surface of the door and stroked the black charcoal across his goatee, darkening the color of his beard.

As they passed the guard offices, they took back the Sage Doctor’s confiscated belongings. The wooden walking stick was heavier than Snapper expected, and the travel pack was much lighter, but the Sage Doctor confirmed that all of the loose items taken from his pockets were present. After checking that the pack and stick were in order, the Sage Doctor gathered the remaining items. He stored a tabletop’s worth of odd vials and powders in his wide sleeves, hiding almost twice the travel pack’s capacity in the many pockets and folds of his robes.

They escaped along a road leading inland, moving parallel to the main path while remaining far enough into the woods that they could not be easily spotted by the usual traffic. At first, they made good progress, and Redwater Town vanished into the distance. However, after walking for half an hour, the Sage Doctor’s pace abruptly slowed to half of his original speed.

“Just... a bit tired... we can continue... I am well,” the Sage Doctor said, voice unsteady in a way that indicated he was far less than well. When Snapper looked back, the Sage Doctor was leaning heavily on the walking stick, mopping his brow with the end of one sleeve.

“No use in pushing past our limits. Let’s take a rest here. We are far enough from the road to remain unseen.” To ease his companion’s pride, Snapper sat down first.

The Sage Doctor all but collapsed on the roots of an ancient tree, stretching out his legs with a noise of relief. He tilted back the reed hat and peered at the forest canopy as though it held the secrets of the universe. A strange sadness played across his face. Snapper turned away to watch the road, giving the Sage Doctor privacy to recover his composure.

“Ah, these old knees… running about is meant for younger folks than us.” The Sage Doctor let out a long sigh. His voice sounded truly breathless after only traveling a short way, and a pang of sympathy went through Snapper at the thought of the long journey ahead.

The coastal village near Snapper’s house was the closest settlement to this forest, aside from the occasional farmer’s plot or woodcutter’s house, and reaching the next town would require several more hours at a brisk walk. To ensure the Sage Doctor’s safety, they would need to travel at least ten times the distance that they had already covered. Snapper could only hope that the Sage Doctor had the strength to cover the full distance; if they dallied long enough for a pursuit force to locate them, all of the escape efforts would have been for naught.

The crack of twigs drew Snapper’s attention back to his companion. The Sage Doctor had gathered a few fallen branches into a pile near his seat. He propped up several short twigs at the edges of the pile to create a pyramidal structure.

“To keep warm,” the Sage Doctor explained, tugging on the end of one long sleeve.

Snapper summoned an orb of heat over his palm. “I can—”

“No need.”

Orange flickered amid the wood pile. The Sage Doctor held a tube-shaped fire-starter similar to the one Kite owned, and he had used it to light a little flame before Snapper could approach. His motions were swift and sure, betraying none of the exhaustion from just moments before. Seeing this, Snapper chuckled and dispelled the orb.

The Sage Doctor patted the ground beside the fire. “Come. Sit and warm your hands. You must be tired as well.”

“I’m alright. Enjoy the fire. When you are rested, we should move on.”

Snapper resumed his watch over the road. One of them needed to remain alert in case the authorities came searching for an escaped prisoner. As the gloomy afternoon sky darkened into dusk, the light of even a small campfire would be visible from afar.

A sweet, burnt scent reached Snapper’s nose, and he sneezed. White smoke poured out from a bundle of herbs in the Sage Doctor’s hand. The Sage Doctor had pressed a broad sleeve over the lower half of his own face, filtering out the smoke from his own airflow while the white smoke wafted around them both.

“What are you…?” Realization struck only after Snapper’s vision blurred. He tried not to breathe in any more smoke, but the sweetness had already entered his lungs. When he took a step away from the Sage Doctor, he tripped on his own feet. The ground tilted as dark spots floated in front of Snapper. He stumbled against a tree, digging fingers into the rough bark to stay upright.

Regret came, as usual, too late to make a difference. Before, Kite had warned Snapper about the dangers of the Sage Doctor. Snapper had ignored those warnings, thinking only of helping the harmless old man imprisoned for another’s crime. This favor, extended purely in goodwill, was now repaid with betrayal.

The air flashed around Snapper’s body, splinters of light and concentrated heat peeling from his skin in time with the turmoil of his mind. He suppressed them with supreme effort. If he struck out blindly, when he was seeing double and up became down whenever he blinked, the forest might ignite, and such an inferno would not spare the adjacent town. He ought not to subject ordinary townspeople to that devastation while he still had control over his own abilities.

In the distance, a dark figure moved along the main road. Snapper seized onto this opportunity with every ounce of awareness left in his fading mind. If a witness approached, then Snapper still had hope of escaping the Sage Doctor’s poison. Snapper used the tree trunk to drag himself to his knees, refusing to slide back down despite the way that the world spun around him.

“You there! Help! Help me,” Snapper shouted, waving an arm. His sleeve caught on fire from the motion, as did all of the treetops directly above. Pale gold from the setting sun speared through the new hole in the canopy, and a pillar of light descended around Snapper.

The dark figure on the road paused, turning in Snapper’s direction. A metallic gleam extended from one arm, and the figure dashed forward at full speed, a midnight-grey cloak fluttering in his wake. Dizzy relief rushed through Snapper—help had come. It was indeed lucky that Kite had passed this way at just the right moment. With Kite’s cursed sword defending him, Snapper would be safe.

Kite charged at the Sage Doctor, sword raised to impale. Embers and burning twigs dropped like rain from above, but Kite’s cloak deflected the falling flames. The orange glow of the burning trees reflected in dark eyes and the gleam of bared teeth, a grin floating amid the shadows of Kite’s hood.

“You’re interfering again?” Kite shouted.

The Sage Doctor pointed his staff at Kite. “Ungrateful thing. I should never have pitied you. A shame that fifty years were not sufficient.”

The murderous intent on Kite’s face warped into something wretched. He ducked around the Sage Doctor, sword gleaming brightly in his hand, and lunged into Snapper’s circle of sunlight.

Steel pierced Snapper’s gut, and the flames on his arm winked out at once. Despite the warm light shining upon Snapper, tendrils of ice plunged through his veins. He jerked away from Kite’s blade, gasping as the motion sent pain radiating through his body. A hand on his shoulder steadied him against the tree trunk at his back. Another hand steadied the sword, sticking it deeper. Snapper shuddered.

Kite watched him with earnest eyes. “No hard feelings, old fellow.”

In the shadows behind Kite, the Sage Doctor staggered sideways, leaning heavily upon the staff. The Sage Doctor dropped to his knees at the edge of the sunlight.

Chills burrowed through Snapper’s abdomen. He clawed at the blade, cutting his own palms open on the sharp steel that he could not tug out. He summoned the power within his core to blast the youth away, but only a few sparks gathered at his fingertips. The energy drained away as quickly as he could muster it. Soon, even the sparks were gone.

Kite spoke from somewhere above. “Stop struggling. This is for both our sakes. It will hurt less if you cooperate.”

A wordless hiss escaped Snapper, but he had no strength left to fight. As he collapsed to his knees, the blade withdrew. Snapper fell onto his side, curling up around the deep wound. Confusion twisted through the pain. Why had Kite attacked Snapper? They were supposed to be working together. Why betray Snapper today, when he most needed Kite’s help?

Flames enveloped Kite from head to toe, and laughter rang through the air. Kite attacked the Sage Doctor, combining acrobatic leaps and sweeping lunges in a stunning display of swordsmanship. The halo of stolen power flared from Kite’s limbs with every attack. His sword glowed orange like steel fresh from the forge, throwing waves of heat that Snapper could feel even from afar. His sword technique was swift and agile, flowing smoothly between forms to rain attacks upon his opponent from multiple angles.

Unfortunately for Kite, the stolen power was no advantage against this opponent. The Sage Doctor had cast away his earlier weakness like a discarded cloak. Flames rolled off his body harmlessly, streaming from his sleeves like feathers from a bird’s wing. Unhindered by Kite’s ineffective Casting display, the Sage Doctor’s staff-work proved to be the slightest bit more effective than Kite’s swordplay. The staff countered stabs and parted heat waves in almost the same instant that Kite struck. With each blow traded, Kite lost ground, barely managing to evade the Sage Doctor’s counterattacks.

The old sayings indeed had merit, Snapper mused—power without skill was worth less than nothing against a true master of the arts. Kite’s inexperience in using Caster power showed; he spent all his efforts on directly attacking the Sage Doctor, who had already proven immune to the heat, rather than taking advantage of the considerably less fireproof environment.

The Sage Doctor’s fighting style was the most elegant that Snapper had ever seen. Simple and efficient, precise yet graceful, his staff technique relied upon leverage and deflection rather than the raw speed that Kite employed. Whenever the two separated far enough for the Sage Doctor to point his staff at the other, thunder bellowed and smoke trailed from the staff’s tip. Yet Kite always dodged from the line-of-fire with amazing speed, or a swift sword knocked the staff askew, and then the distance vanished and the close combat resumed.

The clang of metal and wood called to Snapper, stirring his wonder. What would it be like for Snapper to dance in Kite’s place, dueling the Sage Doctor with his own two hands, or perhaps armed with a fishing pole? To feel the gust of wind from a strike barely dodged, to lunge and parry in perfect synchrony with a worthy opponent?

Snapper groaned into the leaf litter. Clearly, he was delusional from the injury; he had exactly zero combat experience, unless wrestling a dog-sized trout onto one’s rowboat counted as combat. Wounded and unarmed, Snapper would be an unworthy opponent for the weakest of novice fighters. It was an insult to even compare himself to someone on the Sage Doctor’s level, but nevertheless, Snapper could imagine the thrill of such a duel.

They had only fought a few rounds when the staff jabbed through Kite’s guard twice.

The halo of flame flickered out like a torch dropped in the sea. Kite backpedaled on nimble feet, attempting to raise his blade again, but his sword arm spasmed and fell limp. The sword dropped to the ground. Kite thrust forward his other hand as though to summon more flames, but nothing happened. He backed away further, and wariness grew upon his face.

The end of the Sage Doctor’s staff slammed down upon the center of the sword. With a crack like thunder, the blade shattered. Smoke rose from the point of impact.

Kite cursed.

The staff swept upward an instant later, and Kite dove sideways. The blow meant to clout his temple glanced off one shoulder. He rolled away less deftly than before, wobbled upright, and sprinted away at maximum speed. The paralyzed arm flopped at his side as he fled. The shadows of the forest soon consumed his fleeing figure.

The Sage Doctor planted his staff amid the shards of Kite’s broken sword, proud and immovable as a mountain. With loose evergreen-colored robes fluttering around him in a slow wind, the very forest seemed to bow before his venerable might. Authority radiated from the Sage Doctor: here was a warrior who had once perched atop the world and knew that he could do so again, should he wish it. Standing victorious in defense of Snapper’s wounded self, the Sage Doctor looked like a general from the old stories.

“Guardian General.” Snapper whispered, reaching for this spectre in green with one unsteady hand. The stretch sent a sharp twinge through his midsection.

The Sage Doctor jerked as though stabbed. As he spun around, his regal bearing fell away. He was just another weatherbeaten old traveler, humble and harmless, dwarfed by the ancient trees towering over his frail figure. The staff that had defeated Kite in two taps became a mere walking stick.

The Sage Doctor hobbled into the patch of sunlight. The reed hat still perched atop his head, hiding his expression from the light. Snapper reached for it, wanting to see the face identical to his own and search it for answers. However, fingers closed around Snapper’s wrist before he could reclaim the lost hat. The Sage Doctor’s grip shifted and pressed inward, probing for a pulse.

“Why?” Snapper croaked, though the word took all of his concentration to shape. Why did the Sage Doctor show concern now when he had also poisoned Snapper just a few minutes ago? This Sage Doctor whom he had released from an unjust imprisonment, that Kite who had practiced Casting alongside him, those villagers among whose ancestors he had fished the seas—why had they all turned away from him in the end?

The Sage Doctor’s head bowed. A hand brushed against Snapper’s brow.

“This is my fault. I only wanted you to enjoy a peaceful life.”

The world spun away.

Snapper was falling…

Falling…

Drifting.

Floating?

Strands of coarse fiber entangled his limbs. He hovered in midair, suspended by this web while water splashed below. Ropes as thick as his fingers wrapped him from head to foot. Too weak to escape, he could only cough out seawater and shiver as wind stripped precious heat from his drenched body.

The world lurched, and he tumbled onto wood. Air rushed into his lungs. He flopped around for a moment before discovering which way was up. Pain lanced through his abdomen, and he gasped. Rolling over under the cloudless blue sky, he saw, in silhouette, a person.

“Hey, I’ve seen you before. Snapper, right?” the person said. She wore simple clothes and a ship captain’s pointed hat. A stone disk swung from her ear, and a long knife gleamed in one hand.

Snapper flinched, but he was still stuck in the fishing net. His eyes darted around, searching for an escape. Could he hop over the edge of the boat before the knife reached him? If he did, what would that accomplish? He would have to swim through the ocean, and the nearest land could be one mile or a thousand miles away.

The captain approached. Snapper scuttled back, but agony in his middle forced him to stop. It felt like someone had run him through with a sword.

“You’re the old fisherman who disappeared after that murder last month.” The knife slashed, and severed ropes fell to the side. The captain smiled, offering a hand. “Up you get, Snapper.”

Snapper took the hand, but he did not trust the attached smile. Nor did he trust the other half-dozen curious gazes that followed him as he emerged from the fishing net. What reason did they have to smile in his presence? Why were they all focused on him? How did they know his name? None of these faces were ones that Snapper had ever seen before, yet they all seemed to recognize him.

When Snapper rose to his knees, the pain grew too intense to bear. He doubled over, clawing at the front of his tunic with both hands. There were more layers of cloth than Snapper expected—the tunic, and then several strips of coarse white fabric, and then a rectangle of softer white. He tore them all away, desperate to find the source of the pain.

Wet fabric ripped, and crimson spilled over his hands.

Someone gasped.

In the space between navel and sternum, blood poured from a deep gash. Black threads, over half of which were broken or loose, dotted the edges of the wound. Someone had run Snapper through with a sword, and then sewn him up afterward—but when? How? Snapper was on good terms with most of the neighbors. Who would have a motive to attack him? He only remembered hauling in an empty crab trap by the cliffs, and then he woke up here, injured and snared in a fishing net.

Snapper gingerly felt around his lower back with one hand. More pain curled through his body, driving the air from his lungs. There was a matching puncture on the left side under the smallest rib. As he withdrew the hand, more loose threads caught on his ragged fingernails, jolting the edges of the injury.

A whimper escaped his clenched teeth.

The world pitched to the side. Hands caught Snapper, easing him down to lie flat on the deck. More hands pressed dry cloth over his wounds, soaking up the blood.

“Don’t panic,” voices assured him, “You’re safe now, Snapper. Everything will be alright.”

Safe? Everything would be alright? No. Couldn’t be, not when Snapper had been stabbed by someone he didn’t even remember. Anyone could be his enemy, even one of these supposed rescuers. They were lying.

All lies.

Lies…

As Snapper’s eyes drooped, his last thought was, trust no one.