The rest of the day passed without much excitement. Rory was actually quite thankful for it. Peace was what he ultimately wanted, and this was a nice taste of it.

Of course, it wasn’t an ideal, heavenly little area they had cultivated just yet. Late in the afternoon, there was a ferocious argument between some of the former Neophytes and Malcolm. The poor guy hadn’t yet recovered fully from his wife’s death at the hands of the Thunderclaw, and now he had gotten into a row with their draconic friends over it.

“You put us in danger!” he yelled. “Again, and all of us. How can be so reckless? Couldn’t you spare a single thought for everyone you were affecting by your stupid, stupid decision? What’s wrong with you all, huh? What’s wrong?”

Several of them were trying to calm him down without much success. Bo was keeping a tight hold on his shoulder and both Allen and Trish were trying to head off the argument by interjecting without much success.

It was unfortunate that Malcolm had somehow riled up the former Neophytes as well.

“We did what we thought was needed,” one of them said.

“Help isn’t something you can deny to anyone,” said Melvin. Rory recognized him from their recent outing. It seemed their little escapade hadn’t calmed him down. “Survival? At the cost of everyone else? What sort of savage, animalistic idea of survival are you clinging to? Why bother surviving then, or calling yourself human? Go live outside like an animal. Stop wasting our time and resources.”

“Oh, you think I’m the animal here.” Malcolm pointed a finger at Melvin as though he was going to poke a hole through the draconic hide. “Have you even seen yourself in the mirror lately? You’re literally a monster. A freak. You think your mind is healed back?” He laughed, an ugly weapon meant to denigrate whoever it was aimed at. “You’re a beast. You belong with every other monster we’ve dealt with so far. Stop kidding yourself that you belong here.”

“Enough!” Dez shouted as he appeared. “You all, get them out of here. I don’t want to see them in the same place again. Move, now.”

Bo and Allen grabbed Malcolm by the arm to pull him away from the hall and slowly drag him up the stairs. At the same time, the former Neophytes had smothered Melvin so that he couldn’t advance upon his seeming adversary.

Rory shook his head. His eyes found Darcy standing in one corner, staring as her dad was dragged away. Viv had gone up to her, slowly speaking soothing words. The little girl’s eyes looked watery, but she wasn’t crying. Rory’s heart broke a little at the sight. How could Malcolm get into an argument like that with his kid watching on?

“Are you okay, dear?” Rory asked Darcy when he reached the kid and Viv.

His wife looked a little sad when she met his eyes too, but she turned a bright smile on Darcy as she picked the girl up.

“I’m okay,” Darcy said. “What happened to papa?”

“Nothing’s happened to him. He just got a little upset, is all. He’ll be fine soon, you’ll see.”

“I think he misses mama. We all do, but papa misses him the most, I think.”

Rory had no idea how the girl was keeping her eyes from overflowing with tears, but she did an admirable job of not crying.

“It’s okay, dear,” Viv said, softly stroking her head. “You can cry. We all really do miss your mama. She was wonderful.”

“She was. I wish I could see her again.”

And Darcy cried after that.

Rory swallowed. There was something about a child’s cry that made him irrationally depressed. He’d never been able to stand it. Every time Alex used to cry, he’d always try to find the reason behind it and do his best to solve it. Something in him always spoke of failure whenever there was a child crying nearby.

Patting Darcy on the head, then Viv on the shoulder, he left to check up on the arguers.

The former Neophytes had gathered in the garden in the courtyard. They had been speaking vociferously among each other, with strange gaps and silences. It confused Rory. He figured their emotions were so high-strung that they were performing a weird mishmash of talking and communicating via their hivemind telepathy.

Not that the realization helped Rory comprehend what they were saying much. There were snatches of recognizable words, but he didn’t want to take them out of the rest of their context and make judgements based of that broken mess.

But they all straightened when Rory approached, eyeing him with their slit pupils. They were wary.

“Melvin,” Rory said. He tried to look through the press of draconic bodies and see if he could recognize the one who had been arguing with Malcolm. “You mind talking with me for a second?”

After some shuffling, Melvin came through the group. Maybe Rory ought to ask them to start wearing clothes just so it was easier to tell them apart.

“Are you here to censure me?” Melvin asked, looking warier than the rest of them.

Rory shook his head. “Nope. I just want to talk and figure out what happened. Tell me how it started and how it turned into an argument like that.”

Melvin opened his mouth for a while, then closed it with a snap. Rory wondered if it was his new body’s version of a sigh. “The resentment had been boiling for a time, I think. But it got much worse after last night. It was a palpable feeling, and all of us decided to stay out of your way.”

Rory grimaced at “your way”. He didn’t want them to feel like others, but then maybe he was part of the problem. It didn’t help that he constantly referred to them as former Neophytes. “How did the actual argument start?”

Melvin was silent for a while, then performed his strange sigh again. “We crossed paths. I believe I sought to use the bathroom, but Malcolm needed to use it at the same time. I went ahead anyway, though I made sure to be quick. Apparently, I wasn’t quick enough in Malcolm’s opinion. So, we argued about who deserved to use the bathroom first.”

A part of Rory recognized the sheer ridiculousness and hilarity of them arguing about who deserved to use the bathroom before the other, but the rest of him remembered just how vicious the argument had gotten. They had both outright told the other to leave the palace and potentially die.

It made sense why Melvin had started his tale earlier than the incident itself. Ridiculous as the trigger had been, the meat of the argument had been simmering for a while.

“Thank you for telling me,” Rory said. “I’m going to go talk to Malcolm too. Then we’ll put this behind us, I hope, because we all belong here. Is that understood?”

“Are you insinuating that us monsters belong with humans like you?”

“Melvin!” Arie came forward from the rest of the huddled. “Enough. That isn’t how we’re going to solve the problem.”

Melvin whirled on her. “You’re right. We won’t solve it like that. We should do what they want. That’ll be what’s the best for everyone. Leave them to their… safer ways, while we leave and kill our—”

“She said enough.” Rory’s voice was firm but cutting. “I don’t want to hear any more of that kind of talk. If you really want to leave, if you think that will truly be what’s best for you and your life there, no one here will stop you. But don’t try to drag everyone else by slandering the rest of us who choose to stay.”

Melvin’s eyes had turned into narrower slits so that they looked almost like vertical lines. He didn’t reply, however. Maybe Rory had gotten through to him, though he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

“Like I said,” Rory continued. “I’ll be talking to Malcolm. Then we’ll resolve this like adults and put it in the past. Take care till then.”

He went back inside the palace. Malcolm was sitting at the top of the central staircase, head in his hands. The others were strewn around him, though Rory noticed Viv hadn’t brought Darcy in yet.

Malcolm looked up when he heard Rory’s footsteps. There was a morose, regretful expression on his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for things to get out of hand like that. I shouldn’t have lost control.”

Rory sighed. He thought he’d be angry when he saw Malcolm but in truth, he just felt hollow and sad. Disappointed. “There’s no point telling me you’re sorry.”

“I know.” Malcolm swallowed. “I’ll try to make it up to them.”

“Yes, but not only that. Don’t just tell them you’re sorry if you don’t mean it. It won’t help. I want you to make them feel welcome. The underlying thing is that—and this is for all of you to hear.” Rory looked around to all of them who had gathered around. “Make them feel welcome. We don’t turn away anyone who seeks our help, no matter who they are. We don’t want them to leave because some of us feel uneasy. Is that clear?”

Bo, Trish, and Allen all provided tight nods. Whatever fears they harboured, they kept it to themselves. Now wasn’t the time to let their biases and unfounded misgivings to affect their actions and choices.

Hopeful that he had impressed what he’d meant to, Rory left them.

The day was thankfully eventless otherwise. They had their dinner and went to bed, despite the sense of tension afloat in the air. Arie, Melvin, and their group claimed their spots in the main hall to sleep.

Rory was happy that none of them had decided to leave. He wasn’t sure how much it was his words, how much they had truly never really wanted to leave the palace, and how much effort Malcolm and some of the others had made to be more friendly and welcoming. Whatever the reason, they had all ended the day amicably enough.

Early next day, Devrum returned from the cloud mine. He had brought some materials they needed to make some of the Sigils they had requested.

Rory had prepared to create the Sigils of Calling already. He summoned Samson, who had used him Sigil of Gathering to hold the sounds they had made yesterday.

“How exactly did you find those sounds you had been seeking?” Devrum asked.

“They screamed into my hand,” Samson said. “That was literally all there was to it.”

Rory tutted. “It wasn’t just screaming. There was crying, shrieking, whispering, grumbling, and even some honking, if I’m remembering right.”

Samson shook his head. “Glorious, huh?”

Devrum only looked on passively. “Will the Sigils be ready then?”

“It will,” Rory said. “Just going to need some careful handling.”

One problem with handling sounds was that it was like gas. It was too easy to mess up and lose what they had recorded since it wasn’t under their control. Another issue was that controlling the exact amount they needed to create a Sigil of Calling with all the sounds would be difficult to latch onto. Rory would have to use his Weaving with as much care as he could.

“Ready?” Samson asked.

Rory took a deep breath and held onto the Espritium from the dwarf tightly. “Let’s get this over with.”

Samson activated his Sigil of Gathering. A tiny point of light glowed on his palm to open up the little pocket dimension. Immediately, the combined hubbub of all the noise they had recorded yesterday blasted out. Rory would never have guessed that whispering, grumbling, crying, shrieking, and everything else they had listened to would be so strange to listen to.

At the same time, Rory activated his Weaving on the chaotic combination of sounds. The white lines of light surrounded Samson’s hand in a stormy flow. Rory held it active for three seconds before Samson shut off his Gathering.

Then Rory shifted his focus to the light grey crystal in his hand. The white lines coalesced onto it, and a moment later, he had a Sigil of Calling in his hand.

Rory raised the Sigil high and smiled as he observed it. “There you go,” he told the dwarf. “You’ve now got your Sigil of Calling.”

Devrum smiled and pulled out a mask. An elven mask. “And you now have this.”