Darson bellowed a peal of deep laughter after making an obscene joke, smacking his thighs.

I smiled slightly, used to the man's antics after he kept intruding on me for two weeks straight. “Is that true?”

“Of course! I had her wrapped around my finger,” he said. “How else could I have—”

“Not that,” I cut in, narrowing my eyes. The man tended to go off on random tangents, lest I forcefully changed the flow of our conversations periodically. “The ‘truth’ about the Outland villages?”

Darson's expression stretched with somber. “...Yeah. No offense to yer work,” he said with a peculiar amount of mirth in his grim tone. “But it's a widely known fact. I don't know why, but the Outlands are a little less than human ranches for Corrupted to do as they please… It's been that way for a long time now. I suppose, Redheads just don’t travel that far from the central dominion.”

My eyes traveled to the window, ears strained, I could vaguely make out the sounds of children playing; preparing for a celebration. “...I'm sorry.”

Darson shook his head, taking a slow sip. “Bah. Your sentiments fall on deaf, calloused ears,” he slurred softly. “It is the will of the Fractured Five we abide, and in the end, Karnden will be the one to save us. It is scribed clearly in the Records.”

I fell silent, noting the adulation in his voice. It was an obscure thing, Karnden's Records. Tailored to keep the peasantry docile, and obedient to the dictators known as the Fractured Five—at least, that's what it seemed like from what Darson had been telling me.

“Ya know,” he suddenly said, breaking my thoughts, looking into my eyes; an intelligent glint in his. “You sure ask a lot of obvious questions…”

“My head was cracked open,” I said, smiling. “Is it too much to ask you to help sort my disheveled thoughts? If it bothers you…”

He snorted dismissively. “It doesn't... I just wonder sometimes, ya know?”

I studied with him. Darson. He was an odd fellow, even now as he nodded in and out of a drunken stupor, he seemed…calculating. “I don't. Explain.”

“You say you don't… Well, let's look at how you killed Granny,” he mumbled, with no particular emotion in his voice except curiosity. “You shredded her to pieces. That, to me at least, raises a few questions. How did you do that without runestones? What about Glyphgear? The Records would clearly show you didn't even have a sword.”

“I have my secrets,” I said flatly.

“I-, I see,” Darson said, flushing. He looked away, a finger circling the rim of the bottle. “See I, too, have secrets…”

Raising a brow, I listened silently.

“I supposed calling 'em ‘secrets’ is misleading,” he continued. “...When I was younger, I had one dream. That I'd be the one to avenge my family. That I'd become a noble Hearthborne, one that willingly burned away his soul for the livelihood of the poor. A hero; a Hunter. That's why I'm so curious… But, please, do not take it to heart if my excitement gets the best of me…”

“My secrets are my own,” I said, after a moment of silence. “I'll never be able to satisfy your curiosity, Dars. I hope you understand that.”

Another heavy silence settled as I let my words hang in the air. Hopefully, after this, he wouldn't pry into my business again.

“...Of course.” Darson stood, smiling, helping me out of bed. “Ah. We should get yer ready, I think.”

I nodded, letting him carry me to the next room—Astrette's sleeping chamber. There, we found her organizing a bundle of clothes.

“You're here,” Astrette said, leisurely straightening a gray cloak. She stopped, patting her bed. “Please, sit.”

Darson left soon after helping me sit comfortably. I let my gaze sweep the room. It was a disheveled mess, bottles and papers littered most of the floor. Clothes were mindlessly tucked under and between furniture haphazardly.

“So this is how young ladies keep their rooms,” I said lightly. “How quaint.”

Astrette's cheeks tinted brighter with a roseate glow. “I'm a busy woman,” she said, kicking what seemed to be an undershift aside. “As you've come to realize, my master is barely home. I have to keep matters running.”

She moved to a drawer, pulling out a pair of silver scissors. Then, with practiced precision, she grabbed my thin wrist and began shearing the bandages. They cracked away, split apart by the scissors' blades, revealing the tender flesh beneath.

I cringed at the sight. My skin turned into a sickly, pale blue leathery hide that clung to my bones. What muscle I had left were sinewy threads that pressed against my skin. Faded crimson runes—which seemed to have bleed through the wrappings—marked my body, contrasting with the dead blue.

“It's okay,” Astrette said, fingers working to remove the bandages around my chest. “You'll heal.”

I felt my expression relax.

“Thanks to you.”

Astrette smiled softly. She seemed to be getting more comfortable around me.

***

I shoveled a spoonful of creamy porridge into my mouth, a bland taste rolling down my tongue into my throat. An hour or so had passed since Astrette cleaned and dressed me—I say dress when, in truth, she swaddled me in a few dozen layers of thick robes.

“Is it really necessary?” I asked for the umpteenth time, wiping my sweaty forehead. “It's painfully hot…”

Ylrenci furrowed her brows, clicking her tongue softly. “It is. Think of it,” she said, adjusting the white ornamental cloth braided through her dark hair. “These poor people want to celebrate their hero—you. Do you think showing up looking Ashfallen is a wise thing to do?”

I sighed out my nose, annoyed. I was bedridden for a month. How did they expect me to look? No… The uncomfortable heat was getting to my head, after all, even I was shocked to see how sickly my body was after only a few weeks.

“See here,” Ylrenci said, scrunching her face. She pointed her spoon at me. “If you aren't up to it, say the word. No need to keep moaning.”

Seated opposite her, Astrette shot half a smile in my direction; a small gesture that revealed how much she sympathized with me. I smiled back, accepting her sentiments and scooped up more porridge.

Ylrenci rolled her eyes dramatically when she saw her exchange, grumbling something profane under her breath.

I swear, if the woman could hold even a smirk for a minute, she'd transform into a stunning beauty—even if she seemed to be approaching her late fifties.

“What?” I asked, feeling Ylrenci's gaze on me.

She stared for a moment, then took out a small handheld container and pinched out a tiny amount of the black powder contained within, snorting it. “Help our friend up, will you, Astre? We can't keep the masses waiting.”

I slowly stood, using the hardwood table as a support, fighting the tremors rattling my brain. The floor seemed to shake beneath my feet as I shuffled onto Astrette's shoulder.

“You don't have to overexert yourself,” Astrette said, following her teacher as she walked out the door. “Take things slow.”

I nodded lightly, despite my thoughts on the matter. I didn't disagree with her, just that it was hard not to ‘overexert myself’ when even walking felt like an impossible chore.

Even at this very moment, as we slowly made our way through the narrow streets to the village hall, I constantly had to keep the bile stuck in my throat from creeping into my mouth. But I couldn't complain, either I continued controlling all my muscle movements or I strained my fragile body to a breaking point.

The village square was bustling with activity; children ran around, chasing each other with big grins on their faces. Several young men were lounging outside the hall—a moderately large building that could comfortably fit forty people—sharing drinks, their expressions showing either some form of melancholy or drunken joviality.

When we passed them, they gently nodded their heads respectfully at me. There was no reverence in the act, it was a formality at best.

I returned the gesture.

A powerful, meaty aroma assailed my nostrils as I entered, numbing my tensed body for a moment. When was the last time I dined on red meat?

The stares directed in my direction forced me to snap out of my culinary fantasies. The hall was booming with chatter and merry music performed by the band in the corner of the room, but it wasn't hard to notice the glances aimed at me—some simply curious, others swirling with malevolent intent. Those caustic gazes I felt as clearly as cold daggers on my skin.

Astrette sighed, looking at her master. The fickle woman slipped and vanished into the mass of people dancing in coordinated chaos. Eventually, though, she looked away, maneuvering around the dance floor to a long table at the back of the room.

There, on one of the four seats, was Darson. He saw us and waved enthusiastically, his fingers oily with meat juices. “Aye! You're finally here,” he said, lifting a large cup and drinking its contents. “Sit, sit. Ah, by the way”—he waved to the young, redheaded woman beside him—“this is my wife. She's the one I was telling ya 'bout!”

“So you're the infamous Catherine,” I said, maladroitly sitting beside the woman. “It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Catherine's bright-blue eyes turned frigid as she sent a deathly glare at her husband, then at me. “The pleasure is all mine, but…‘infamous’?” she asked, her voice clear against the myriad of crosstalk. “No… don't tell me. I fear not knowing might be best.”

She turned away, embarrassed, ginger-colored hair swaying, and started reprimanding her husband. I watched her for a brief moment, coyly admitting that Darson was not one to brag using empty words. He did, indeed, find himself a pretty wife.

Though her beauty did not capture me for a long while as such pointless thoughts were lost in my mind seconds later.

I blankly pulled the bowl of soup closer, gently stirring the thick concoction with a wooden spoon, listening to the banter that filled the hall.

Most voices were hushed; sober conversations muted. It was as if the people present wanted to hide a grave taboo amidst the noise. To the current me, however, this was a wasted effort, for my hearing was able to fish up distant whispers from the waves of noise.

I just needed to focus.

My other senses began to fade as my hearing became sharper. A slight prickling sensation ran down my neck, and my ears twitched, a force beyond the physical tugging at me from different directions.

Startled—but undaunted—I followed the threads, pushing my awareness towards the strange feeling, my brain transfixed in a trance-like state. Time seemed to slow to a crawl.

“—yes quite, I thought so—”

“—bout it, silly girl, a man of—”

“—too pale? I see it, too—”

“—he's small, I tell ya—”

There was a soft popping sound in my head, and my vision burst open with color, my eardrums thrumming with the sounds of celebration. Then, as though it were a fleeting auditory illusion, the flurries of voices conversing about me vanished.

…Did that have something to do with ‘Intent Awareness’? I thought, startled, the voices echoing distantly in my head. I expected to hear conversations closest to me, but not that.

“Renith?” Astrette's placid voice reached me. She gently grasped my shaky wrist. “Should we leave?”

Her suggestion confused me for a second but then realized my body was trembling incessantly. I blinked away the salty cold sweat trickling into my eyes, letting out a breath. “...I'm fine.”

“Are you?” she asked, frowning.

“I am. Really.”

Astrette nodded, letting go of my wrist and moving to pick up her mug of ale. She slowly sipped the frothy drink, gently nibbling the rim of the cup for whatever reason, a faint smile on her lips as she stared into the crowd.

Clenching and unclenching my fists, I returned to my thoughts. From what little I managed to hear, the only thing I was truly certain of was that these people were not here to celebrate me; they were here to celebrate the lives of various victims of the Corrupted.

I let my gaze fall to the dance floor.

There was an eerie beauty to how the people moved, the way the women were twirled around by their partners; their feet in tune with every melody. They danced in a reverie. Mirthless, yet with bright smiles plastered to their faces. As though they were marionette dolls devoid of purpose, twisting to the flows of life.

I slowly finished my stew, barely savoring the taste because of the bitterness clinging to my tongue. This simply won't do.

Perhaps I should lead these people, save them from the dread eating away at their lives?

Following that line of thought, I stood, bewildering Astrette. I ignored her questioning gaze, however. There was opportunity here, I needed to seize it.

A deep breath, then I let three seconds pass. “People,” my voice was audible yet it wasn’t loud. The people closest to my table heard it, the people further away felt it.

The music stopped abruptly, a few final dissonant notes trickling into the air.

“Allow me to thank you for throwing this banquet in my name. However, I must say… It disheartens me to think of all the friends and family lost at the hands of that beast.” My gaze sieved through the room. “If, by chance, the time comes when you all are in peril, know that I won’t allow your sufferance to fester on as it did with Kalirea.”

There was silence, and the looks directed at me were anything but pleasant. Nonetheless, there was a stir. They sensed it as well as I did.

The beguile power that accentuated my words.

I had to stop a grin from fissuring my benevolent expression. “Trust in me.”