Hot crucible! That was awful thought Edwin as he walked back from the outhouse. I never want to do that again. He saw Emiko stretched out on her bedroll. Oh. She’s already asleep. I must have been gone longer than I thought. Don’t worry, Emiko. I’ve got things under control—

A black wolf, five feet in height at the shoulder, crept out from behind the bonfire. The beast stared at Edwin, mocking him.

—Damn!

The wolf turned from Emoji, never taking its eyes off of Edwin. The beast started walking toward the alchemist. Bright yellow eyes bore into Edwin's soul, reaching for him as a starving man grasps with his eyes at a warm and fatty slice of beef turning on a spit.

“How the Hell did you get in here?” asked Edwin. He reached inside his robe for his wand. One volley left he thought.

The beast crept closer. Its mouth hung open, drooling in anticipation.

Edwin was frozen with fear. I've never been scared before. Not scared like this. His arms shook. Tears welled up in his eyes, overflowing and dripping down his cheeks. He’s here to kill me thought Edwin. He wants only to destroy. Well… if I’m going out, you’re going out with me. Move, damn it. Move! Why can’t I move? And why do I have to piss again? I just went!

His heart fluttered, and he half-remembered words long forgotten, words instilled in him in childhood. In the dusk of days, the wolves will run across the barren world in battle, bringing the rivers down from the mountains to glitter in the endless dawn.

“Begone, heathen!”

From Edwin’s left, a white wolf charged. He came from out of nowhere. The white beast fell upon the black with a vicious and savage fury. He struck like lightning, booming like thunder: snarling, biting, growling, clawing…

...And as soon as he was there, they were both gone.

Edwin stood and stared straight ahead. He blinked. He breathed. He rubbed his eyes.

What a strange thing to imagine he thought to himself. If I didn’t know better, I’d have sworn that was a hound of heaven. “Hahaha!” he laughed at himself. God’s guts! The incense Emiko’s been burning must be on another level! She’s got me seeing things. He laughed again.

I’m sure it’s that I’m stressed out and exhausted. I’ve never pushed myself so hard with alchemy before. Of course I’m delusional.

I suppose I can understand why the uneducated take religion so seriously. Shame on those who take advantage of them. And, I suppose after having my own delusion there, I can also see why many of the wizards of old were so religious. They must have had many delusions as they pushed their craft forward.

I’ve got to go document this. This whole day.

He sat down and pulled his journal, quill, and inkpot from his bag. He began scrawling in the firelight, carefully recounting all that had befallen him since he had left the hamlet that morning and run into Emiko.

Edwin was from Ealdendale, a city in Westhalion. Ealdendale was the home of the University, a school for scholars and mercenaries. Edwin was an alchemy scholar there, and he’d set out east to this place, Midthalion, to observe wildmarches, places where civilization was sparse and the chaotic energies were abundant. He wanted to know for himself what the edges of the world were really like.

I hope I’m not getting in over my head coming here.

He noticed that his page was getting darker. He looked up. The candle mimicry around him was disappearing. The bonfire in front of him was still raging; the changes he’d made to the composition of the wood were permanent. I’m pleased with that. That little improv worked pretty well.

The candle mimicry would only last as long as he’d stretched it to last when casting the spell. He’d put so much effort into making it big that he hadn’t considered making it last longer.

I’m pretty sure I hit my limit. I couldn’t have made it last all night if I wanted to he thought as he stood up. Exhaustion was creeping up on him, starting to swallow him, but a small dose of fear pushed him up and over to the fence. He looked out into the moonlit field. He saw nothing. All was calm.

He looked up at the sky to determine to what time it must be. It’s around midnight. There’s still a lot of time to go. Things could get bad again.

What should I do? I could try and put up a few wards, but I’m so tired, I probably couldn’t get them to last more than an hour. It just wouldn’t be worth it. We don’t really have a good option.

There’s Butcher. Butcher will wake us up if something bad happens. Trust the dog, I guess.

I’ve got to get some sleep. I can’t stay up. There’s no reason to stay up anyway. At least, not anymore. The situation’s changed. Yeah. I’m going to get some sleep.

He laid down on his bedroll and put his pack behind his head as a pillow. I hope this isn’t a mistake…

Valgros ibn Al-Valjin tapped his bare foot against the wall of his cell. He was a devil-man. At least, that’s what they called him. His father had called them al-jihen. Either way, he was of a race of men with hellfire running through their veins. Valgros assumed that was why the elf-men had ripped him from his burning village and thrown him in this cell.

As soon as I’m out, I’ll kill every last one of these elf-men. Do my horns and red skin make them hate me? By Balfometh, I’ll make them hate me because I killed their fathers and seduced their mothers. Yes, perhaps I’ll leave the women alive to bear my seed. The fetching ones, at least. Perhaps these men will dash their brothers’ heads against the walls of the keep when they see the horns of their mothers’ newborns. Valgros shuddered. Even I’m not so hate-filled as to want my own sons dead… but would these mothers cry for such children?

I will avenge you, Ragnar, Snorri, Varvarov, and you… Athelia. I don’t think I’ll ever know why they murdered you all and kept me alive. I won’t wait long enough to ask.

No. A quick death is too good for them. I want more than that. I want screaming. Begging. Cowering as I carve the flesh off their bones.

First, I need to get out of here. I wonder if they have my father’s sword or Athelia’s codex.

How can I escape though? The walls are solid stone. The door is reinforced. I might be able to burn through it, but what will I do then? I cannot fight armed men. My sorceries are not so great.

There is no hope.

I would pray to you, Balfometh, but you are a cruel god. You never listen. I bet you are laughing at my fortunes now, and I bet you will laugh when I hang from their gallows. That is, if you are even watching.

Valgros rolled over on the pile of straw. He considered crying for a moment, then laughed quietly at himself. What good are the tears of the al-jihen? We are men of fire. I would only dowse my soul were I to cry.

His stomach growled. Empty and taut with hunger. He clenched his jaw and tightened his face with hatred as he imagined himself wielding the old sword of his father, cleaving elf-men to pieces. All around him, fires burned. He was with his friends again, and they were covered in the blood of their enemies. A dark smile marked Valgros’s face.