The wrestler was too scared to notice the slight tremble in Rael’s voice. If she summoned her own tome, would Rael be able to keep her promise? The woman’s labored breathing struggled beneath Rael’s knee and the pair waited for the other to act. Thankfully, the choice was taken from them when a couple of rough hands picked her up. The Dragonward backed away, letting the others bind the wrestler in rope. She said nothing. Her eyes were downcast as she allowed herself to be led away, toward the Norn’s Hall for judgement.

“We need a healer!”

“Is there a shaman?”

Rael focused on the trio tending to the wounded man, blood gushing from a deep cut in his abdomen. Rael wordlessly approached and pointed their tome at the victim.

“Don’t stab him again!” Someone yelled and reached for Rael.

“Shut up!” He was pulled away. “That’s the Dragonward. Their tome is a dagger.”

“[Minor Heal].” The injured man blinked woozily as Rael’s spell closed the stab wound, his shaking hand feeling his stomach. His hand came back slick with blood. Not the gushing flow it was before, but still enough blood lost to be worried about.

“You saved me.” He rasped.

“I just closed the skin.” Rael shook their head and motioned his friends to lift him up. “You’re still bleeding internally.”

“Isn’t that where the blood is supposed to be?”

“Get him to a shaman, quickly.” Rael ignored him, instead speaking to his comrades. “He needs more help.”

“Thank you, Dragonward.” They bowed and hurried off with their wounded and confused friend.

If they didn’t get him to a proper healer in time, the man would die. Thus, the problem with [Minor Heal]: it was good for scrapes and small cuts, but not much else. Rael turned back onto the road, continuing to examine their spell list. ‘[Minor Cut], tier 7. Did decent damage against the demon. That’s when it tiered up last.’ [Minor Cut] wasn’t just effective, it had potential. Rael had witnessed what the higher Circle variant could do with he enchanted greatsword. When it was placed on an edge, it could turn a dangerous fighter into a deadly one.

‘Then, there’s [Minor Sense Life] at tier 8. Old reliable.’ If by some miracle, Rael could delete spells from their tome, they would still not remove the spell. It had…sentimental value. At some point, it became more than a gift from someone they’d bonded with in grief. More than proof that not everyone in their past life hated them. It allowed Rael to see the world beyond the confines of the slave ship in their darkest hour. It became one of the treasured spells in their repertoire that gave them an edge over others. This hunter’s spell switched Rael’s role on that airship from prey to predator. ‘If I get a chance between getting the higher circle [Sense Life] and [Cut], I’ll choose [Sense Life].’

Maybe because Rael was a softy deep down. They liked to think it was very deep down. They narrowly avoided a gaggle of children running through the alley. One of them tripped on a loose stone, stumbling to the ground and skinning his knee. Without even thinking about it, Rael pulled him to his feet by his arm, dusted him off, and cast [Minor Heal]. The kid, who was holding back tears, looked in awe at his healed knee.

“Thanks, miss!”

“Just Rael.” The Dragonward said automatically. They gestured to him to go, still mired in thought. The child ran off the meet with his friends, whispering as they saw him approach. Rael was oblivious to the attention of the kids and continued on their way.

‘[Minor Chill] at tier 6. Works well with [Hydro-kinesis], my only Third Circle spell, and my go-to offensive spell.’ Rael grimaced when they realized it was their only offensive spell. It was the base on which their other ‘offensive’ spells relied on. With good reason, considering the spell allowed far more water to be moved more precisely than [Shape Water], while also generating the water faster and in greater quantities than [Create Water]. The synthesized spell was greater than the sum of its parts, even considering increased energy drain. All in all, it was a versatile spell. Then there was the cornerstone to Rael’s success.

‘[Synthesis], fifth Circle. I only recently pushed it up to tier 3, despite using it so much since I got it.’ If [Hydro-kinesis] was versatile, [Synthesis] was mysterious and obtuse. It offered no real increase to Rael’s attack power but helped them in so many ways. It required more energy than [Minor Mend] but offered the same capabilities, and so much more. It didn’t stop at fixing things that were once broken, but it could also meld objects together and allow Rael to craft with unrivalled precision in new and interesting directions. Wollow’s last gift was beyond precious. It freed Rael from the bonds they thought limited all Meta. It freed them from the chains. It allowed them to survive the Bergin assault on the slave ship and be recognized as a smith worthy of a Faulk elder’s attention. Rael would call it life-changing, but they felt as if they were only scratching the surface of what [Synthesis] could become. ‘Life-changing’ was an understatement.

‘And now I’ve got [Dreamwalk], which I have no idea how to work.’ Rael was stopped by another crowd close to the shaman district. Well, less of a crowd and more of a massive brawl. Faulk were beating each other senseless, throwing meaty fists into each other’s faces, drowning each other in blows and raucous laughter. Craning their neck, Rael saw several spilled barrels of wine, streams of mauve running in streams downhill. The wind blew Rael’s way, the sent of rich elderberries almost inebriating them right there. Someone must have spilled the fine vintage and angered the owner. The fight would’ve spread from there. Thankfully, no weapons were drawn and no spells were fired, so the massive fistfight was an ‘innocent’ one. Rael shook their head and took an alleyway to go around.

The Faulk city was already dark with the constant overcast, but the looming buildings on each side of the alley plunged it into darkness. The sounds of the brawl faded away, and Rael was once again alone with their thoughts. It was in these deep shadows that fear crept up Rael’s spine. ‘What happens if someone tries to give me a spell again? It’s already happened twice. Both times, I was lucky to have a spell slot open. If it happens right now, I’d be exposed as a Meta.’ Rael pictured a man rushing from the shadows and forcing a spell on them. Their heart stampeded in their chest, eyes darting at every shape in the dark. A bit silly in hindsight, considering that someone leaping from a shadowy alleyway would be the last person to give someone a free spell. Fear is rarely rational. And fear drives people to do risky things. Stupid things.

‘Why not just use [Synthesis] to combine spells again?’

Simple enough in practice. When Rael had joined [Create Water] and [Water Control], the two spells had clicked together. As if they were meant to be. It was reasonable enough to think it would be the case for other spells.

‘Let’s try it. My two most useless spells, [Ember] and [Minor Light], could be synthesized. Worst case scenario, I get a weird third Circle spell and a free spell slot.’ Rael smugly looked at their tome, imagining the two spells clearly.

“[Synthesis].”

It was a time-honored tradition that young Faulk would make big mistakes in the dark alleyways of Stone Circle. An unwanted pregnancy, a drunken romp between friends, a dare gone wrong…these things had happened before. Credit to Rael for finding an entirely new way to fuck up.

The searing pain that burned Rael’s head was their only warning. They collapsed, clenching their hands to their head in a silent scream. Every synapse in their brain was on fire. Colors danced in their tunnelling vision. Rael writhed madly on the ground, every one of their muscles spasming intensely. The only thing on their mind was pain, and a desperate need to connect [Ember] and [Minor Light]. Another spasm coursed through their system, causing their legs to kick wildly against the nearby wall. Frothy bile climbed Rael’s throat, drowning their mouth in blood and their last meal. They forgot how to breathe. The colors began to bleed away, their entire life flashing before their eyes.

Rael’s mind latched onto the memory of Ty on the slave ship. When he stood at the wheel, watching people be subsumed by the monster, did his own life flash before his eyes? Or did he not have enough time, simply raising his hand and casting that spell with grim determination? Purple arcs of lightning jumped from his stretched arm. It didn’t reach far, but it was fast. Fast and effective, igniting the calidaerum closest to him and ending his own life while saving Rael and Azmond. It was light. It was fire. It was enough.

‘[Spark].’

Rael gasped for air. They pushed themselves onto their stomach, coughing up blood and vomit. Sickly fluids splashed against their hands, the acrid stench stinging Rael’s eyes. Every muscle screamed in pain as Rael pulled themselves up the side of the wall and limped out of the alleyway.

Rael tried to summon their tome. A spasm shivered through them and a wave of nausea almost brought them to their knees. Rael’s blood ran cold. They tried again, pushing against some block until they broke through, the dagger jutting from their chest with a spike of agony Rael had never felt from it before. They pulled it out and looked over their new spell. Indeed, [Ember] and [Minor Light] were gone. In its place was [Spark], a second Circle spell. Rael grimaced. It wasn’t alone. There was another spell.

‘What in the Hells is [error:Null]?’ Rael thought incredulously as blood dribbled from their mouth.

Rael grumbled as they emerged from the alleyway. A few people saw them and gave them a wide berth. Partly because of their scowl. Mostly because coagulated trails of blood ran all over their face.

Somehow, Rael stumbled to Bak’s hut without further incident, limping to the closest bed. They stared at the bed, every part of their body screaming for a chance to rest. Azmond was in it. Rael collapsed by his side, the call to sleep too much for them to bear.

“There they are!” Bak’s voice called from the doorway. “Shieldmaiden Edith, I found them!”

The shieldmaiden walked into the hut, a wide grin on her face.

“It’s too early to sleep, Rael.” She chuckled as she towered over the bed. “We need to get you in better shape before the war really starts.”

With titanic effort, the Dragonward turned over and scowled. They could feel the dried blood flake off their face as they leveled the most poisonous glare they could muster towards her. For the first time since Rael met her, Edith flinched.

“Wow.” Edith scratched her head. “Never mind, you look like shit.”

“Mffgh.” Rael agreed.

“Tomorrow, then?” The shieldmaiden offered.

“Grrmgf.” Rael lifted a weak hand up to make a very rude gesture.

“Fine, the day after tomorrow.” Edith conceded with a shrug.

“Mmrh.”

“Hey Bak?” Edith called to the shaman. “Could you make sure Rael eats?”

“What?” The shaman approached the bed, mug of ale in hand, his cheeks rosy with alcohol. When he saw Rael’s condition he jumped back, spilling ale everywhere. “By the dragons, what the Hells happened to Rael? They look like they got into a fight with a rabid swamp panther!”

It hurt to frown, but Rael managed.

“Fghyu.”

Bak managed to nurse Rael and Azmond back to health in two days. A testament to his skill? Perhaps. Encouraged by a weakened Rael’s scowls and shieldmaiden Edith’s constant prodding? Definitely.

Azmond recovered faster than Rael. The Dragonward had to admit, once again, they were more brittle than the young boy. It still hurt to move after two days, but at least they could move. Bak was befuddled by their condition, his deluge of questions crashing fruitlessly against Rael’s stubbornness. Though Rael had to admit defeat in one aspect: they couldn’t bring Azmond to see Bleffy while they were bedridden. They reluctantly pushed Bak to set up the playdate. Which left Rael alone in the hut. Until Edith came back.

“Look who’s up and about!” Her sardonic smile stretched across her lips. Rael stared pointedly at their legs, still confined to their bed. “In a manner of speaking.” Edith shrugged, her grin not leaving her face.

“Shieldmaiden.” The Dragonward’s mouth was dry and uncomfortable. Edith pulled up a chair to sit by Rael.

“Can you walk?” She leaned forwards. “Jarl Feldon wants you to see something.”

Rael moved their legs and winced. “I don’t think that’s going to happen…”

“I do.” Edith’s smile widened. The giant woman picked up Rael like a baby and stood up.

“Hey!” Rael flushed and squirmed, wincing as they tried to struggle out of Edith’s grip.

“Either I carry you like this, or over my shoulder.” Edith stood up, smirking down at Rael.

“I choose neither! Haven’t you ever heard of bedrest?” Rael growled as their limbs flailed all over the place.

“You need some fresh air.” The Shieldmaiden ignored Rael’s weak struggles. “The more you squirm, the more likely I’ll carry you over my shoulder.”

Rael stopped moving. They were already sore, and Rael doubted that being held over the giant woman’s shoulder would do their aches any good. They crossed their arms grumpily and allowed themselves to be carried out of the hut. It was quiet outside, only a few shamans milling about. Those that did often found their attention wandering, turning to look at the omrads every few minutes. Rael was too busy pouting to notice until they made their way through the streets. It was nearly empty, faded cheering echoing through empty alleyways and sparse streets.

“Where is everyone?” Rael wondered aloud.

“Upset nobody seeing you being princess-carried away?” Edith chuckled.

“Ha-ha.” Rael rolled their eyes. “I’m no princess.”

“You absolutely aren’t.” Edith nodded eagerly. “You lack refinement, grace…” Rael scowled at the Shieldmaiden. “And you can kick ass like nobody’s business.”

The youth looked away bashfully. Edith carried them up a few more streets in silence.

“You really think so?”

“Fledgling warriors face different roadblocks.” Edith kept their head straight ahead and hummed. “Though maybe I should say we all face different challenges. The things you’ve been through…it’s a lot for someone your age. It’s a lot for someone my age.”

“Sounds like you’re making excuses for me.” Rael said gruffly.

“Not at all. You’ve been diligent. Beating people ten years your senior in physical matches is nothing to scoff at.” Edith met Rael’s gaze with a rare, genuine smile. “Not to mention your decisiveness. The mark of success is found in those who don’t let their fears and surprise slow them down.”

“They would’ve clobbered me if they used magic.” Rael summoned their tome in their hand, the glint of the blade catching Edith’s gaze for a moment.

“A tale as old as history.” Edith ignored Rael’s sour expression. “Train the body or train magic? The physical word or the magical one? Spell or steel? One offers extraordinary power, and the other is weak but reliable. I’ve always thought it was hard to live without magic, but impossible without your body.”

Could Rael have survived their recent synthesis failure without a strong body? Rael didn’t want to think of the possibility, the shame of what could have been burning in the pit of their stomach. But if they were normal, they wouldn’t need to rely on their body or weird spells as much. If Rael was normal, they’d still be with their family. They’d still be Raela Greenthistle, the smith’s capricious daughter. But she’d be able to cast more than ten spells, she’d be able to be more than a stain on her family. She’d bond with Tipple over their magic, and probably take over the smithy when Yolfis messed up one too many times. She’d eventually get the respect of her family and her village. But that person wouldn’t be Rael. Rael, who’d escaped a slave ship. Rael, who survived the shipwreck. Rael, who killed demons. Rael, Dragonward and protector of Azmond.

“Were my words that deep?” Edith broke Rael out of their thoughts.

“Just thinking about my past. What I could have done differently. How I could’ve been different.” Rael said as they tried to figure out where the distant cheering was coming from. It sounded like it was coming from the dock Omrad.

“Stone Circle has a way of doing that.” Rael’s inquisitive gaze prompted her to continue. “It’s an archaic place, the steps long worn by centuries of Faulk footsteps. It has a way of bringing the past back to us. Not just the ‘what if’s that plague us in our sleepless nights, but old bonds and ancient debts. It is where the voices of the dead call to us, where old scars open again.”

Rael looked over the buildings of Stone Circle with a new perspective. Indeed, the steps were worn down to shallow troughs. The walls of the oldest buildings smooth from generations of trailing hands. There was just enough light to spot a thousand young lovers’ names, etched in the alleyways. Some names had faded beyond legibility, others smooth and old, and yet more carved as recently as that year.

Even the granite benches along the road were weathered by countless tired people, curved as if pressed under the weight of every Faulk who had ever sat down on them. Every part of Stone Circle spoke of ancient history, yet it was lived in and dynamic. A crumbling wall was replaced and supported by younger, rough stone. Some steps stood out, flat and rectangular without any moss or algae creeping into the cracks. Pieces of history that could not survive the rigors of a lived space, replaced and forgotten by pieces that would eventually follow their fate.

“You are not the only one haunted by spirits.” Shieldmaiden Edith’s eyes were distant, lost in a different time. “Others must deal with more…present voices.”

Rael understood what she meant. They’d seen it at the Norn’s Hall. Old rivalries sparked between captains and jarls, personal histories crisscrossing in a mad tapestry. Rael was almost afraid to pull at any strings they found, lest they unravel an entangle in a feud spanning generations. It reminded Rael of one of Wollow’s last words of wisdom. ‘You may eventually learn that chains are the easiest kind of bonds to escape from.’ In a way, the ‘ghosts’ that haunted Rael weren’t as real as the ones that loomed over every Faulk. Rael owed nothing to the previous Dragonwards, but the Faulk had their own bonds. Families, blood-debts, oaths…Rael was barely connected to it all. What would happen if Rael got too close? How enmeshed were they in this web of honor and merits?

“I’m going to carry you over the shoulder now.”

Before Rael could say anything, Edith hoisted them on her shoulder and climbed a ladder on the side of one of the bigger buildings. Rael felt like a cat being picked up and carried around. They had a terrible grimace when the Shieldmaiden picked them off her shoulder and dropped them gently on a chair facing the dock Omrad. Sitting comfortably next to them was Feldon, who was looking through a telescope.

“Ah, Dragonward Rael.” Feldon did not look away from the docks. “I wanted to thank you for helping Smith Gault in the contest. If you had not been there…” Feldon smacked his lips distastefully. “I would not be in the running for High Jarl.”

Rael settled down, acutely aware of their porter standing behind them.

“You don’t strike me as the type of person who would want to be High Jarl.” Rael muttered.

“And you’d be right.” Feldon chuckled good-naturedly. “I’ve lost enough hair from being Jarl. A position that was thrust upon me, I assure you.” He squinted intensely through the telescope. “But if Erikar becomes High Jarl, I would have a good deal more to worry about.”