The redhead’s still-wet hair was done up in a ponytail and he was barely clad in a towel, clutching his clothes to his chest. Zelsys could see several bruises on his lower torso, and what looked like the bruised imprints of two large hands at the sides of his ribcage.

“Which one was it? Tell me please, for your own good,” the Borean demanded of the redhead. No… He was pleading. It just didn’t exactly come across that way with how hoarse his voice was at the moment.

“I swear, I didn’t do any-”

Jorfr grabbed him by the shoulders, staring him in the eyes.

“Listen to me, this is not about what you did or did not do. I am trying to protect you from those maneaters. Which one?”

Victor deflated in Jorfr’s grasp right that second, sighing: “Both. They came to me in the night, first Merete then Torhild.”

“...No broken bones?” Jorfr asked.

Vic shrugged: “Some bruises and scratches. Didn’t think the plates would help now of all times.”

“Some bruises and scratches…” Jorfr chuckled into his beard in relief, letting go of the redhead. “I’ve seen men thrice your size come away with broken legs from a night with one of those maneaters. Do you still have the scroll?”

“Of course. I’m not dumb enough to keep that kind of thing out in the open.”

“Good. No worries, then. Just try to avoid blood mead if you can, if anything will destroy your mental defenses it’ll be that vile swill.”

“I don’t know, it tasted pretty good when Kyriak Bjorn offered me some in a backroom in the Wolfsblade,” Zel piped up smugly. The two men’s heads slowly turned towards her, the question of how long she’d been standing there writ large over both their faces.

“Admittedly, it hit me like a bag of bricks on the first sip, so… Yeah, I’d go with Jorfr’s advice until you get your grandfather in check. Speaking of - Victor, did we ever get around to handling the second circle breakthrough for you?”

“Er… No? Isn’t… Isn’t that an ordeal that takes weeks and can kill you?”

“Only if you practice Azoth Stone Cultivation and have unresolved mental blocks. Do you have any hang-ups over your bone magic?”

It was a rhetorical question. Zelsys was already certain that the boy had rid himself of such mental binds. If anything, it would’ve been hard not to notice his demeanor change from the first time she saw him in the Duma School’s courtyard.

“That… No, I got over that back in Arches.”

“Good! We can use the Bjorns’ Primary Spring to help that along, then. Jorfr, can you prep the severance ritual while I fetch Zef?”

The northman nodded in agreement. Just as he turned to leave, Zel shifted her attention to her protegé.

“Victor… Go get dressed. Can’t have you running around the longhouse bare-assed, else Fryg might take her frustrations out on you.”

Vic’s eyes went wide at that remark and he went pitter-pattering down the hallway towards his room. Far more amusingly, Jorfr lurched in place and nearly tripped over his own feet as he double-took at what he heard. Zel couldn’t help but let out a razor-toothed laugh at the northman’s valiant effort to regain his bearings. She could feel that her words had put an abominable image in his head.

He turned to look back at her, his expression more harrowed than it had been even at the lowest point in the Blue Moon War.

“You are awfully cavalier about this,” he said.

“As are you. I expected you to be angry,” Zel replied.

Jorfr hissed: “I am angry - at my sisters.”

He gestured in the direction of Victor’s departure.

“There is no world in which I can blame him, if anything he acted in the best possible way to avoid injury.”

“Something tells me that it won’t end with your sisters,” Zel said facetiously. She only meant it one-fifth of the way.

Jorfr, however, replied completely seriously: “I agree… Honestly, I should have predicted this. The boy’s straight out of a smutty Eight-legged Horse Press pulp, weird Kargarian facepaint and all. The fact he didn’t snap like a twig under a monster like Merete will only make it worse. Or better, for him, I suppose, if he’s careful. That woman doesn’t know how to keep her mouth shut. Or her legs.”

“So long as his exploits don’t interfere with training, I will take no issue. Now, we have a Severance Ritual to prepare for.”

“Right,” Jorfr nodded.

“Oh, one more thing. I will take you on that tour of the city I promised later today, some time in the evening. We have a blacksmith to visit.”

They parted ways. Zel found Zefaris surrounded by a mess of writing supplies, obsessively scribbling eldritch runes that made Zel’s eyes hurt just with a glance. Zef was entirely naked save for her red-black panties, and her hair was done up in an uncharacteristically messy ponytail. At her right hand were three DDLV seal-bottles, two empty and one half-empty. Her left eye was wide-open and the veins of her temple were not just bulging, they were damn near threatening to burst free of her skin, while her right eye was completely dilated and horrendously bloodshot. A beam flashed forth from her left eye carving into the paper, which she immediately traced over with ink. Her palms were covered in black smudges. Despite the absolute state of her, Zelsys couldn’t help but find it sexy in a strange way - perhaps in the same way as a grimy, sweaty, beaten visage right after a harrowing battle.

“Please don’t tell me the Black Rod drove you mad.”

“Huh? No. Well, yes, but no. Sort of. It put a bunch of info in my head and I didn’t really process it until now. I’m… I’m almost done. Just… Give me twenty minutes, I just need to get all this out of my head.”

“How long have you been at it already?” Zel asked.

“An hour, two, dunno. Seriously, I’m almost done, just… Twenty minutes. Half an hour at most,” Zef replied. She was manic enough to remind Zelsys of Makhus that one time - Zel wagered she had consumed about twice as much Daytime Dust as the alchemist had back then.