After a night of jovial feasting with the rangers of Montar Jungle, Phyrn’s chosen were renewed and ready to help prepare for the coming tribulation. Krey and Pippy had ventured out into the jungle with Taku and Lindli to meet with the goblins, while Livia and Emilie remained at Littlenest, which remained protected by a handful of other montaran rangers. Two of which were the man and woman who had brought home last night’s feast, Orlando and Halhul, who watched on as Emilie instructed Livia in a new magic practice.

“It is a fundamental art, Livia,” Emilie insisted. “You can do it.”

“I know, I know,” Livia snipped, “it’s just… difficult to be so precise. I’ve always been taught magic as… as…”

“A cudgel?”

“Yeah… pretty much.”

“Well, that’s not all bad; it’s certainly served you well so far. But there in lies the weakness; it solely serves you, and no one else. Learning to use magic as a needle, rather than a cudgel, will serve not only you well, but others too. And I can think of no better magic to start with than white magic, the most foundational of magics for the good of both the self and others.”

Considering their simplicity and commonness, motes were proving to be a challenging thing to synthesise. Pure crystallisations of magic, a spell suspended in a mesmerising molecule of mana…

maddening little marbles, Livia cursed silently.

Emilie demonstrated once again, the art of drawing, coaxing the magic out of a font - a source - and containing it. She breathed deeply, rhythmically, wisps of white aura being drawn from her bosom and condensing in her hands to form yet another white mote… which she added to her growing lot of green and white motes.

Meanwhile, Livia’s hands were balling into fists. “I… I don’t know about this, Emilie.”

“You can do it,” the hierophant insisted. “You are hardly the first to struggle with this.”

The outlander slouched. “I’ve just never been very good with the delicate stuff. I’m a warrior, a… I’m a warrior. I fight and I kill and destroy—”

“And you dance elegantly in the intricacies of the swordfighting art, you have focused your vital, passionate emotions into life-breathing touch, I’ve seen you skip and giggle in the streets in displays of moving delicacy with the simple joy of wearing a dress.”

“Emilie…” Livia sniffed. “What is this?”

“This is me doing my job, Livia,” Emilie cooed warmly. “I may not be the most worldly person, but I am a student of the spirit; you, Pippy, Krey, even Tecal… the time I spend with you is never without an undertone of observation. I watch, I learn, I think, and I unearth the virtue in each and every troubled soul - and they are all troubled - that crosses my path. This is the sacred duty entrusted to those of my stripe, Livia.”

“I… how is this relevant to what we’re doing?”

“I just want you to know that when I say you can do this, I do not speak from a position of blind optimism; you are not barred from any of the, as you call it, ‘delicate stuff’.”

Livia took a deep breath, her posture straightening with renewed vigour. “That was a pretty roundabout way of saying ‘try again’.” Another deep breath, and hands now brought up together with a bit of space between them, concentrating on the flow of mana within…

Nothing. The wisps of white that emerged from her body dissipated before they could coalesce. Livia sighed, emitting a low, faint growl. “I’m sorry… I just can’t do this. I can’t just rise it up out of me, I’m not that good with magic. When it comes to spellcasting… I’ve always been sub-par.”

Emilie hummed and hawed, and from deep within the constellations of her memories, she recalled something that Pippy had realised a while ago now— something she’d seen in Livia before anyone else. “No… you’re not sub-par; quite the contrary. I think I know what the problem is.”

“Oh yeah?” Livia cocked an eyebrow. “Just like that?”

“Halhul,” Emilie beckoned, “may I borrow your mikata?”

“Oh, uh…” the ranger approached, knelt down, and drew her blade. “I suppose so, milady.”

“Thank you.” She carefully changed her grip on its handle to be inverted, and in her other hand then held her rosary. She closed her eyes and muttered a silent prayer… and then plunged the blade into her own stomach.

“EMILIE?!” Livia cried, her eyes threatening to pop out of their sockets. “WHAT THE FUCK?!”

Emilie managed to pull the blade out of herself, and then haphazardly chucked it aside back toward Halhul and Orlando. When the two rangers tried to approach, they were repelled by an at-first invisible barrier, not unlike the gates erected by Emerelda throughout the jungle… except they couldn’t dispel this one; it was of a different demesne, one to which they were not attuned.

Livia wasted no time, immediately leaping forward from her seated position to be kneeling over the dying hierophant. Her instincts took over, and as she pressed her open hands against the wound, an explosion of blinding white erupted from within the point of contact. When everyone regained their vision, the room was swimming in a pale nebula, swirls of sparkles of white stars and faint marine coronas, soothing ethereal twinkles ringing in everyone’s ears.

Emilie propped herself up on her elbows, and Livia tumbled backward; it was now the hierophant’s turn to kneel over the adventurer. “You truly are a woman of purpose, Livia. There is a great strength hidden deep within you, that much is clear… but something is holding you back.” She uttered a startled burst when Livia’s hand darted up and grabbed her by the collar of her robe, pulling her face down closer to hers.

“Never do something so stupid like that ever again,” Livia begged, tears streaming from her glistening eyes.

“I won’t need to,” Emilie assured her, touching her face. “We have seen all that needed seeing in that moment. And look…” her hand drifted downward now, to where she had only moments ago been bleeding. “It worked. There’s barely a scar. I will have to get the cut in my robe repaired, however.”

After a moment for everyone to regain their composure, Livia began forming the confusion in her mind into coherent questions. “How did you know?”

“Know what?”

“That you’d be okay— that I’d heal you in time.”

“I didn’t. If the threat to my life had not been genuine, it would not have worked.”

“You’re insane!”

“There is method to my madness. Call back to a previous tutoring session with Pippy, regarding our practice of new elemental magic; what did Pippy do to finally bring your true potential to the surface?”

“She forced…” Livia’s eyes widened again. “She forced my hand. She gave me no choice.”

“Livia…” Emilie toned, “you don’t like using magic, do you?”

Livia said nothing.

“Why?” Emilie pressed.

Livia remained silent. She stood up, thrust her hand downward, and effortlessly manifested a white mote that she let to just drop to the floor, clattering against the wood and rolling away. She made to leave without another word, but was halted when Emilie spoke again.

“Perhaps Pippy will know how to help you.”

“No— no.” Livia came back immediately, lowering back to the floor and motioning defensively with her hands. “Don’t tell her about this— please.”

“Then confide in me, Livia,” Emilie offered sternly. “Confide in your hierophant. I am honour-bound to keep our discussions confidential.” As she said this, she waved dismissively at Orlando and Halhul, who took the hint and left the room.

Livia’s face darkened— literally. A blackness seemed to enshroud her, only subtly, just enough to send a chill down Emilie’s spine. The tattoos on her face seemed to ebb and throb with a subliminal rage. “I’m a failure, Emilie. When the time came to be strong, I was weak, and I failed. The strength I possess comes from a bad place, a place of evil and treachery and hypocrisy; it should not be relied upon. I will not be a slave to the power bestowed upon me by those I now despise, and I will not sully others with that whole bloody mess unless absolutely necessary.”

“You speak in riddles, Livia,” Emilie sighed.

“It’s the best I can do for now,” Livia grumbled. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Whatever the specifics of your troubles, Livia, I can tell you one thing for certain: you must learn to accept the power you have. You must embrace it as your own, and shape it to your own designs. If you do not wish to be enslaved by it, as you say, then master it.”

Livia took several deep breaths and dragged a hand down her face. “This power is a lie; I would sooner be rid of it.”

Emilie just smiled, holding Livia’s shoulder firmly yet gently, deciding to leave the matter rest for now. “Perhaps we should return to our preparations, hmm? The more motes we produce, the better equipped our new friends will be should battle break out.”

Livia, after a moment of hesitation, nodded. “Right… right.” The mention of battle made her stomach turn.