March???

I don’t know when the tears started, but I’ve discovered my ruined eye still sheds the salty fluid, the sting in my cracked cheek bracing as I sit on Genitha’s porch under the midday sun waiting for someone to appear. I remain there until the sun disappears behind the canopy, the change finally shaking me out of my stupor.

Swearing as I drag myself to my feet, I roughly brush at my face with my remaining hand as I instinctively try to clear my vision. Which only results in more pain. But the pain is pleasantly bracing against the emptiness swirling inside me. There must be something more going on here. I… it was never this bad when I was alone before Akilo.

Still alone, I move inside. It should only take a few minutes to get the wood bar back in place. It takes me longer.

Accessing my inventory is the only thing that’s easy with a sole hand. At least I have plenty of food. And it’s not like I’m going to run out of water. Sitting at the table, I make my way through a lasagna-esque dish, the taste not registering. My eyes remain focused on the locked door, only leaving it to glance out the windows. It’s only as I bite at my empty fork that I realize I’ve finished.

I know I should wait for the others. Especially in my condition. They’re probably only a minute away. But I’ve been here all day. All day alone.

Which is fine. I was alone all the time back home. I was happy when I was alone.

Yeah, happy. I was… happy…

I can’t even pretend to believe it. I was miserable. I lived for the weekends with Sab and my visits with papa.

Oh god, papa.

I’ve barely thought of papa for the last month.

I guess its kinda hard to worry about him. Knowing Roberts could cure him in minutes has relieved me of my guilt but knowing that rushing home would only doom everyone else…

There’s a scraping sound from outside, and I hop to my feet, rushing to the window, glad for the company. But it’s not any of my companions. Instead, a familiar giant feathered dinosaur is stripping the tops of the nearby trees of its leaves. The red and white feathers have the same distinctive crest of the first Zanbia I met when I arrived. And the same scars. Either it’s the same one or they're very closely related and those scars are some sort of marking.

Even though it’s not one of my friends, the familiar creature is reassuring. I watch as it tears another chunk of leaves from the next tree, the chaotic feeling in my gut settling. Then there’s another crack. But this crack has nothing to do with the Zanbia. Instead, there are swarming shadows. Dusk Athama. Just like the ones from the attack on Aethire. Even as I’m struggling with the wood bar, I hear an explosion from outside.

I scream as I drop the bar on my foot. But it doesn’t matter, as I fly around the cabin as quickly as possible, pausing time the second the door is open. At least that works.

The Zanbia is still standing. It’s leaking a thick blue liquid from above it’s left eye, but is otherwise uninjured, it’s mouth open in the middle of snapping at one of the darting shapes.

It’s a simple matter to send lightning torrent forth to dispatch the dozen or so Athama that are swarming above it. But there are another three hiding amongst the forest that take longer to draw out without leaving the clearing. Much as I want to help the giant beast, I know I’m far from peak condition. It won’t do either of us any good if I collapse.

With the Athama gone, I pull free my healing talismans from my inventory. Then I stare at it. How did I forget my backup talismans?

Doesn’t matter. Taking a deep breath, I float towards the Zanbia. The blue liquid has already gone stiff. Maybe it doesn’t need healing? Which is probably better. Healing it with my mediocre healing skill would only cause it pain. But… I have three single use talismans.

Normally, I wouldn’t even consider using one of my single use healing talismans. But the swirling pit of emptiness that’s been making it impossible to think is gone. If I heal her, maybe she’ll stick around. But first I should check to see if any of my talismans will work on my existing conditions. Pulling them out, I look at my small collection. A feather with beads rests next to a bone notched with emerald slivers and a jar of healing salve. Amusingly, the salve which feels the most thematically appropriate for burns, is nearly useless. I don’t understand why, but it’s best for mending broken bones.

But the beaded feather should do something. I place the other talismans back in my pack before holding the beaded feather to my missing arm. As much as depth perception would be handy, it’s not as useful as an actual hand. Especially if I need to keep messing around with the cabin door.

I channel mana into the talisman, but… nothing seems to happen. Staring at the talisman, I can see that it’s absorbing mana. But it doesn’t heal my arm.

Maybe it has a higher mana-threshold? It’s not like I can experiment with it. I only get one shot with each of these. Maybe I should’ve used the salve first?

With a snap, the feather explodes, the beads sinking into my arm. The charred flesh becomes slightly healthier before the beads flare and disappear. That’s it? Six hundred mana and all it does is make my skin pink. Is it just a weak talisman? If I ever make it back to Glimmering Sands, I’m going to have words for the healer. She promised a lot more out of her single use talismans.

A rustle of leaves shifting from the direction of the Zanbia causes me to glance over. It’s nestling in place, one giant eye locked on me. I give it a tentative wave with my uninjured arm before pulling my other talismans from my pack again. I don’t want to use the notched bone unless I have to. It’s the most expensive healing item I have, ten of Vethal’s essence went towards it. It should heal me completely without any mana used if I understand it’s description correctly.

“What do you think?” I ask the Zanbia, whose blue scab is already cracking and breaking free. She doesn’t offer advice, not so much as flicking her eye. She just sits there breathing.

I nod, creating a soft chair formed of earth on the porch, facing the Zanbia. Even using my magic to assist me, it’s painful setting myself in place. “You’re right. It hasn’t been that long. I should wait for the others.”

With the sound of the Zanbia’s heavy breathing in my ears, I let myself slip off into sleep.

…TPWM…

Ukila is high in the night sky when I wake, its surface obscured by the silhouette of the forest canopy. The Zanbia’s breathing fills the clearing with small gusts of wind, each gentle breathe causing the grass to sway. I search my surroundings, searching for what caused me to wake.

There’s nothing obvious. Maybe I’ve just had enough sleep. My stomach grumbles and I’m forced to reassess. Probably should’ve eaten after using all that mana earlier. I pick myself up, glancing at the Zanbia before making my way inside. This time I leave the door open, not bothering to wrestle the damn bar back into place.

A plate of noodles and green sauce disappears as I consider my situation. Someone brought me here. There’s no note, so they either weren’t expecting to be gone long or… they weren’t expecting me to wake. No. If it’d been anyone in the party, we would’ve left a note. So, Genitha then? Except… she’d have left an obvious clue.

Going through the cabin, I search for a sign of what might’ve happened. But it’s only as I’m checking through my own inventory that I realize that there’s something missing that might explain what happened. Stroking my hair, my hand doesn’t find the hairpin Genitha gave me. She mentioned it could provide emergency protection. But does that mean it teleported me here?

If so, I didn’t get left here. Her contingency activated, whisking me away. And if that’s the case then teleportation might be working despite the System’s lockdown. I've known I can move tiny slivers. And the Qelthrona were teleporting too.

Simple test. Teleport an object. It’s a test I should’ve done earlier… I don’t have any of the old lunchboxes I used in my first tests, but I make a similar facsimile. As I look at the imitation lunchbox, I smile to myself. Despite the physical crippling of my body, my magic’s strong as ever.

Wrapping the box in Facet, I Focus, sliding it sideways through space within my aura. The box arrives unharmed a metre from its starting position before dropping a few centimetres before I catch it. Promising.

I repeat the test several times. Despite the static, teleportation appears to work. I’m able to send the box from one side of my aura to the other without an issue. But when I attempt to send it outside, the static overcomes my protection. The lunchbox’s battered form zooms away from me, ripping a gouge in the short grass surrounding the cabin.

The ground starts re-knitting itself as I approach the box. The lunchbox is in worse shape than any of my earliest tests. It’s not recognizable, a rough lump of metal with jagged points in a sagging U-shape.

When I poke it with a pole formed of metal, the tip of my pole melts, instantly bonding to the lump. The lumpen U resists metal-manipulation as I attempt to reform the box shape, the merged portion requiring far more mana than usual to tease apart.

Once I have the lunchbox reformed in front of me, I stare at it. It’s impossible to tell that I just twisted it into a metal monstrosity. A deep breath. Two. Then I send it sliding through space again. This time it tears apart right as it crosses the boundary of my aura. My next few tests are stable, and I’m even able to flex my aura slightly to get it to go an extra meter.

After a hundred tests, I increase the size of my test dummy to a full-size boxy robot. Lacking all the parts that make a robot do their robo thing, of course.

Another hundred tests and I’ve confirmed that size doesn’t matter. At least, not in stability. Teleporting safely within the static field does have a much higher Facet cost than normal for larger objects, even with my aura helping out.

But it's possible.

With my testing completed, I sit down to consider whether to test the next logical step. If something goes wrong during teleportation, I’ll be in even worse shape than I am now. I don’t really need to teleport. This was all just a distraction anyway. At least I’ve confirmed it’s still possible to teleport, even if the range is limited.

Yeah, I’ll save testing teleportation on myself for an emergency. Or after I'm healed.

With my tests completed I end up on the lawn, crafting an obstacle course for Smoulder. Even though she’s not here to use it, it’s still calming. I’m building the third sub-castle for the Holy-Roman Bishop of Suds when I realize I might have overdone it. Most of the clearing is occupied by miniature structures that wouldn’t even serve as much of an obstacle to Smoulder. Unless she’s trying to avoid breaking them. Even the stream that runs along the edge of the clearing has been included, providing the water the Bishop needs to produce his suds.

It makes for an impressive ‘I was here’ gesture though. Still gonna leave a note, but this’ll play its part too.

I’ll need to leave soon. Ergo the note, because no one knows where I am. I’ve been here for at least a day, and Aethire’s not that far away by air. Another twelve hours and I’ll be certain. And well rested.

Waving to the Zanbia who’s still napping away, I return to the cabin, climbing into the lower bunk. I’m not expecting to fall asleep, yet somehow, I do.

When I wake, the sun is intruding through the open door, the light a near solid triangle. It’s easier to float myself out of bed without accidentally jarring anything this time, and I have breakfast without issue. Emerging after breakfast, I find the Zanbia has left, and I feel some of the cloying emptiness pull at me. I almost fly away that second, but I remind myself that I only have to wait until midday. Which should be…?

Looking at the sun, I estimate I have several hours still. But… I’m not exactly sure. Not having my time-sense is leaving me doubting myself.

The remainder of the morning feels like it takes forever. I can’t even distract myself by playing with my magic. That’s not to say I don’t release the occasional burst of flame or lightning. It’s just not very distracting.

Not until I start reflecting on my class abilities. My chakram feels… weird to use with my busted arm. So, instead I keep thinking through them. Which brings me to my Seed. While the link to the rest of my interface is still suffering, somehow, the feeling of the Seed remains mostly the same. In fact, it might even be stronger. Further investigation reveals it has… impressions in it? I think? Vague shapes and glimpses of my memories since arriving on Akilo.

When I estimate midday has finally arrived, I lift into the sky, scanning to make sure I haven’t missed anyone’s approach, my letter neatly folded on Rufka’s table, and the door firmly closed but not barred. When I look to the east, I curse as I see a mana-storm on the horizon. Looks like I’m not going anywhere yet.

An hour later as the last of the mana-storm passes overhead, I fly to the North-east, directly to Theria’s home atop the rocky promontory. There’s a good chance Theria will have some method of contacting either Rufka or Genitha that doesn’t operate through the System’s regular methods. Honestly, there’s probably something in the cabin that would work too. Just not one I could find.

Theria is in one of her terraced gardens when I arrive, tending to a vine with large melons growing on it. She carefully shifts one of the vines to the side, changing its path so it stretches into an open field instead of crossing paths with its neighbour. Once she’s done, she turns to me, brushing her hands together as she looks me up and down. “Alexis.”

Landing next to her, I feel a sense of relief. Was kinda afraid she wasn’t going to be here. “Hi Theria. Sorry for flying in but had a rough day. Uh, I don’t suppose you’ve heard from Rufka or Genitha in the last day or two?”

As she shakes her head, I can feel my stomach drop slightly. “Fraid not. If you need to speak to Genitha, I believe I have some of our old arrays tucked away somewhere.”

“Yes please. There was a… I’m not exactly sure what happened.”

“You okay? Looks like you lost a fight with Astra herself,” Theria reaches towards me, but I pull away.

“Uh. It looks worse than it is,” I lie. If she knew how bad it was, she’d probably keep me here until Genitha came for me.

Theria stares at me for a couple seconds before shrugging. “Come along then, let’s see if I can’t find it.” Theria’s already turned away, stomping down the carefully placed stonework ramp. None of Theria’s home has been built with magic - except the runes that shield her from mana-storm’s of course - but has instead been built by either her or her wards. As we approach the large brick and mortar house, one of those very wards emerges, his arms buried beneath a stack of dirty laundry.

Ckichik’s dark carapace would be enough to mark him as an outlander, but his four splayed legs are what really set him apart. Good for stability, those. Even though most of Theria’s wards have low attributes, he has no problem carrying the awkward bundle down to the nearby stream to do their laundry.

I wave at him as Theria leads me inside, quickly pushing through the crowded central room to a small room beneath the stairs. She pulls a rug off the floor, revealing a hidden trapdoor. Hoisting the trapdoor open, she climbs down, calling up, “Well, come on. Get down here.”

Looking at the narrow opening, I edge my way down, but I still bump my charred arm against the edge. The lancing pain is momentary, but enough I end up bumping into Theria which sends another spike through my side. I bite down on it, trying not let it show on my face. But Theria’s not paying me any attention, sorting through a stack of boxes off to the side.

The room is large but has the lowest ceiling of any place I’ve been to. And not just on Akilo. The entire space is packed with crates, rolled up rugs, bags full of unknown objects and the occasional stone pillar supporting the floor above. Even the pillars seem like they were placed haphazardly. Part of me wants to reach out and reposition them, to create symmetry. But I know better. Theria’s anti-magic stance is a big part of why she lives out here.

It’s also the most common reason her wards leave, according to Rufka.

“Aha. Found… Nope, nevermind,” Theria says, slamming the crate she was sifting through closed, pushing it back into place with her hip and setting the crate above her to rocking. She casually stops it with one hand while moving deeper into the room. “Ah. Here. Come help me with this one.” Theria directs me behind a crate to a trunk with thick metal straps that’s underneath another crate.

“Okay, now pull it out while I hold this one,” she says.

I grab one of the rough leather handles with my left hand before nodding at her.

“On three. One, two, three…” I pull on the trunk which turns out to be lighter than I expected, forcing me to retreat rapidly to avoid clocking myself with it. Once it’s free, Theria sets the crate down, stepping over to release the clasps on the trunk. There’s a soft hiss and the smell of dust left too long in the dark as she pushes the chest open.

“Hmm, yep. That’s it.” She hands me a plain wooden stick from within the chest. I take the stick, glancing back at her as she struggles with the lid. Even when I analyze it, it doesn’t display any stats. What am I supposed to do with a stick? Hmm, Genitha is paranoid about using the System’s messages to communicate. Did she find a way to hide her enchantments from the System entirely? Is that why it’s so plain?

I hold the stick out in front of me, squinting at it, trying to find the hidden runes or any sign of Genitha’s hidden work.

As I’m rotating the stick, Theria plucks it from my hand, wedging it into the trunk to keep the lid from closing.

Oh.

After a few moments of searching, Theria grunts, pulling a board covered in the Vausian alphabet from the trunk. She sets the board to the side while muttering under her breath and digging for something else. Soon a pair of cups with a bit of string join the board. Then a small folded piece of wool, that she flips open, then closed.

Finally, she pulls out a small octagon with a hole in its centre. The octagon seems to be made of pure mana essence, sparks of each element swirling beneath its surface. Analyze identifies it only as a mana essence, but I’m certain it’s more than that. Setting the octagon on the top of her little pile, she turns to me, gesturing me away. “Let’s get out of here. One of these should work. Probably.”

“Don’t you need to contact Genitha frequently? These all seem… old,” I note as I half-float, half-climb out of the storage space, not willing to put myself through more pain just to avoid flying.

“Sure. She’s got a fancy transmitter in Aethire she normally uses. But something happened to it a couple days ago. Got all sparkly then went poof.”

“Don’t you mean sparky?” I ask, looking for this transmitter.

“Nope. It started shimmering like a rainbow after a mana-storm. Then a couple seconds later, it disappeared.”

“Disappeared.”

“Yep.”

“Like, it’s gone, disappeared?”

“Yep.”

“And that doesn’t concern you.”

“Nope.”

My mouth drops open as I try to respond, my hand going to my forehead. But I don’t reach cause I was trying to do it with my right hand. Staring at the space where my hand should be, I focus on the fact I have more important things to do than worry about what happened to Genitha’s communication device. Theria never stopped moving, already pushing some half-finished wood carvings on a low table to the side, clearing space to set her pile down. Then she plops down on one of the cushions scattered around the table.

Joining her, I take a closer look at the collection of communication tools.

“If it works, this would be the best one.” Theria holds up the piece of folded wool, flipping it open again. She fiddles with it for a few seconds, holding it to her chin, the top flap covering her mouth before pulling it away. She repeats the process three times before tossing it onto a pillow beside her.

“Didn’t work?” I ask, watching as she picks up the cups with string.

She places the cups upside down on the table, stretching the string taut as she answers, “Wouldn’t be playing with this garbage if it had. Summon some water, would you?”

I nod, creating a small ball of water over one of the cups. She dips her finger in the ball then runs it along the string, coating it with a thin layer. Once she’s satisfied, she starts tapping on the cups, her hands a blur despite my maxed Iron-Rank Perception. Even channelling Pause, I’m hardly able to track as she alternates between the two in a pattern I can’t decipher.

After several minutes, she stops. She doesn’t throw the cups to the side however, instead clearing more space on the table and placing the board beside them. She places the octagon on top of the board, frowning.

“How much of a hurry are you in?” Theria asks, flipping the octagon across the back of her hand as though it were an oversized coin.

Pausing to consider my answer, I shrug. “Not urgent, I guess. Still, I’d like to get this patched up,” I answer, waving my left hand at the right side of my body.

“Right. Looks uncomfortable. Sorry I don’t have anything for that.”

“It is kind of painful,” I admit.

Stopping the coin, Theria scrunches her face before turning to the side and yelling, “Thistle? Can you spare any of your tea, sweetie?”

There’s a crackling sound from the other room, before Thistle walks in, her leaf-woven hands holding a cup with steam wafting over it. She places it on the table with a few more cracking sounds from the mouth on her chest to which I respond with a simple, “thank you,” in Vausian. I can’t understand Thistle, but I know it’s not mutual. Thistle inclines her leafy canopy in my direction before retreating into her inner garden.

I still don’t know how Roberts managed to talk with her.

Picking up the cup, I take a single sip and my body relaxes. Even the pit in my stomach seems less tight. “Good tea.”

“It won’t fix anything, but I’ve found it tends to relieve pain when an elvenoid drinks it.” Theria taps the edge of the octagon on the alphabet board as she speaks, glancing at the cups, then tapping the board again.

“What’s that do?” I ask, motioning at where she’s tapping the board again.

“Huh? Oh, it doesn’t do anything. I’m just waiting,” Theria answers, smiling at me as she leans back.

“Ah. Is there some reason you aren’t trying the board? Can Genitha only respond to one method at a time?”

“No, nothing like that. Astra’s starboard is just tedious to use. Always works, but it’s tedious.”

“It always works?” I ask, leaning forward to give the board a closer inspection. The letters are spread between four curving rows, each row with different sized letters, the largest at the bottom. Each letter has a circle inscribed in the character, interrupting the otherwise perfect characters. The circle is the same size for each letter. It’s also the same size as the opening in the octagon. Does she have to spell out the words? That does seem tedious, but I can’t imagine it’s worse than the cups.

“Yes. Genitha received it from a friend after… you know, I can't quite recall. But I remember she was very impressed.”

“Do you want me to use it? It looks pretty simple.”

Theria throws her head back, laughing so hard that she nearly bumps the table. Thistle pokes her fronds in, gesturing at Theria, but I just shrug in response.

When she finally stops laughing, Theria smiles at me as she says, “I suppose it would seem like it’s simple. But perhaps I can show you why it’s not.”

Twisting the octagon between two hands, the octagon reacts with a slurp before stretching upward. It continues flipping back and forth, Theria holding it firmly within her hands the entire time until it finally comes to a rest. It’s a perfect copy of Theria, down to her current posture and scrunched up face.

With a deep breathe, Theria slowly moves the figure over the first letter. It’s the same letter as my Vausian name equivalent, but that might just be coincidence. I wait for her to move to the next letter, but she just sits in that position for several seconds. When I’m about to ask her what’s wrong, she moves to the next letter in my name. This time I start counting in my head, trying to determine how long she’s spending on each letter. I’ve reached 42 when she finally shifts to the third of eight letters in my Vausian name. At this point I’m pretty sure she’s spelling it out. And then I notice that the little sculpture is moving, tracing the characters out again and again. No wonder she doesn’t want to communicate with Genitha this way. Each letter takes longer than it took her to do the entire message when using the cups.

When she gets to the fifth letter the cups start vibrating. Theria lets go of the miniature model of herself, uttering, “Oh thank Vaus.” She starts watching the vibrating string carefully, the model reforming into a simple octagon coin.

I spend the next few minutes watching Theria tap the cups, stare at the string, write something down and then repeat the whole process over again. Finally, she pauses her frantic writing and I ask, “So? What did Genitha say?”

“Not much. Most of that was just the code making sure I’m me.”

I blink my only good eye, taking another sip of my tea as I try to retain my composure. As I’m sipping, Theria adds, “I did mention that you were injured, and she slipped in the fact that Rufka is safe.”

“Oh, well that’s good then,” I reply, my voice surprisingly level, the string starts to vibrate again as my heart sags in relief.

It takes another cup of tea and three more sessions to find out that Genitha is several days away, dealing with a situation in one of the M’tari coastal cities on the western continent, so she won’t be able to help me for almost a week. She’s sent a message informing Rufka of my situation, but she has to wait until Rufka’s able to respond to tell us more.

The entire process is painful, her message relayed to me one awkward sentence at a time. Still faster than the board would've been.

As Theria sets her pen to the side, she stretches before reading her latest notes. “Ah, Genitha mentions she should have something to address your wounds. A feather blanket you can wrap yourself in. However, she also said you'd need Rufka to get it. She also wanted me to reassure you that you’re welcome to stay in her home for as long as you need.”

She blinks, looking up from her notes before adding, “You’re quite welcome to stay here as well.”

I nod, but I don’t think I’ll be able to remain. Part of me wants to leave immediately, to try to find Rufka and the others. But the sensible thing will be to wait for a response from Genitha as to her location. To be told where she is.

That doesn’t mean I need to sit still in the meantime.

“I suspect you do not wish to stay,” Theria says, patting my hand.

“No. I mean, I’ll be in the area until Genitha can tell me where Rufka is…”

“But you need to be moving. I understand.”

I nod, then shake my head, “I’m worried about the others too. But if I find Rufka first, she’ll lead me to them.”

“Of course,” Theria says, climbing to her feet while packing up the unused tools. “It’ll be a couple hours until the next message, so if you want to go, now’s a good time.”

“Right. And Theria. Thank you.” I offer her a small bow.

She waves me off, grumbling, “It’s nothing.” She rolls the octagon across her knuckles again for a moment before stopping. Her lips curl downward as she glares at the coin, before shifting her gaze to me, poking it directly at my chest. “You need to take better care of yourself. I’ll not see little Rukie go through such loss again. Too young. Far too young.”

With that, she turns away, shuffling to the trapdoor while I fight to keep my composure. I don’t say anything, retreating past a startled Thistle before blasting out of the sheltered valley.

I’ve crossed the river to the south before I stop my aimless flight.

Taking a deep breath, I look back towards the promontory. The sheltered nature of the valley hides Theria’s home, yet I feel pressure, pushing me to… do something, anything. I follow the river, heading east, toward the sea where this all started. As I travel, I almost don’t notice the mist hanging over the river in the evening sun, but a dark shadow within draws my attention.

Flitting closer to the surface of the river, I realize it’s the Water Elemental. It’s surrounded by hundreds of small blobs. They’re all shifting through shapes, copying the forest around it.

When I get closer, it retreats, its entire eight-meter body sinking beneath the surface without a splash. I swallow hard, pulling away from it. I veer south, moving towards the church and standing stones. I haven’t been here for a while. Not since shortly after Elementalist’s peak. The tower protruding from the top of the church guides me in.

The design is still painful to look at. It’s functional. Ugly. I reach out to reshape it, to turn it into a work of art. To wipe away the shame. Then the cloud cover breaks, the evening sun casting my shadow over the entire village, my single hand grasping like a monster from the dark.

I drop my hand, inspecting the tower again.

Yes, it’s not-pretty.

But it’s a reminder. A reminder of what I was capable of a mere day after arriving on Akilo. This time when I reach out, it’s not to change, but to reminisce. Even in my first moments here, I wasn't reliant on the System for my magic. I've seen enough to know how true that is now.

The static… it interferes with my System.

So… can I ignore it?

I settle on the roof, leaning against the tower while staring into the setting sun. Turning my attention inward, I scour my interface for the hidden connections. Greyed out names float in my head, brought forward in my consciousness. Focusing on Beth’s nameplate, I tease the layers beneath apart, catching the wisp of magic as it's freed from the System’s restrictions.

With the strand in my mental grasp, I reinforce the connection, shifting my Focus.

…TPWM…

Beth’s talking with Roberts, something about the assault, when I connect. I realize I didn’t use any of my improved techniques, as a map of Akilo fills my view. Before I have a chance to adjust, she stops, closing her eyes as she whispers. “Kid? That you?”

It takes me a few seconds to remember how to control the connection. Once I’m certain I’ve got it, I respond, “Yeah, can you hear me?”

“Oh, sweet Jesus. Kid, I’m glad to hear your voice. How are you guys doing? Are you alright?” Even as Beth is speaking, I hear Roberts say my name as he shakes Beth’s shoulder. She nods at him, and he sighs, a small smile appearing on his face.

“Uh. No. I could use some healing actually,” I answer. No need to let them know how bad it is. Wait… “You guys? Rufka and Tipan aren’t with you?”

“They’re not… Shit. What happened? Where are you?”

I attempt to shrug, realize she can’t see me and say, “Not sure. I think I was hit by a mana-strike? Then I think I remember Tipan and Rufka talking. I passed out, had another Uthica flashback then woke in Genitha’s cabin.”

“Understood. We’re outside Betheryne at the moment. No sign of Tipan or Rufka. Aethire’s… it’s not good kid. Roberts is helping out where he can, but there are refugees everywhere. Not all of them can afford to get into the Sanctuary.” She opens her eyes, and steps out of the tent she was sheltering in, Roberts beside her. Her tent is set up near the edge of the Builder city with a clear view of the open fields that stretch to the foot of the mountains surrounding Aethire. Where once there were neat rows of diverse produce, now the fields closest to the Sanctuary are crushed beneath a disorganized mess of the broken floating homes that once made up Aethire.

As Beth watches, another cluster of homes is towed toward the city by two dragons struggling against their harness. One of the dragons drops, causing the entire cluster to lurch and shudder until it’s guided to an empty area by a team of K’tharn. When the cluster touches the ground, several doors snap open, and K’tharn spill out. There are cries of confusion and anger as neighbours call out to each other. I hear more than a few yelling at the tired K’tharn who are already flying off to help with the next cluster of homes.

Behind them, a flash of light appears, Talkith standing there for a moment as she lowers a K'tharn to the ground. And then she's gone.

Roberts waves to Beth, his leathery wings stretching wide as he flies towards the new arrivals.

“Don’t even know how lucky they are,” Beth mutters.

“Sorry, what?” I ask.

Beth sighs, before heading back inside her tent. “There have been hundreds of minor injuries, but from what I’ve gathered there haven’t been more than three fatalities. All of whom were from confronting M’tari directly.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Sure. But I’m sick of them complaining about the damage to their homes. Ungrateful…” Beth stops. I’m certain she had several less than generous words ready but she chooses not to deploy them. “This is going to hurt our plans.”

“I can see…” I pause as a feeling of weakness shakes me. “Uh, I have to…”

My connection to Beth snaps, the pain surging through me as I pass out.

…TPWM…

Beth cringed as she heard the sound of crashing glass on the street below. Looking outside, she saw Travis’ hands on the sill of their fourth-floor apartment. In the street below was the remains of the third television her mother had bought since he’d moved in. She continued to replace them, never questioning him when he said it’d been an accident.

Beth disliked Travis. He’d disrupted her life significantly when he’d started dating her mother six months ago. The only thing that had improved was that he was a better cook than Beth or her mom. Still, their days of bland rice or overcooked chicken were better than living with this man-shaped donkey.

Beth felt her hands closing over the aluminum bat again, wishing she could discard him as simply as he’d done with the tee-vee. The bat was a present from her father on one of his rare visits, back when he still came. She’d been glad when those visits ended. Trying to find words for such a useless man had been painful.

Not like her uncle, Samuel. How two such different men could come from the same parents, she'd never understand.

The bat had been buried in the back of her closet for years before Travis moved in. But after one too many nights of Travis coming home, then settling in front of the television only to go into a rage whenever Manchester United lost a game, he’d hit her while she was making a sandwich. She hadn’t even said anything about his stupid game. With blood still clouding her vision, she’d dug the bat out. Only after having it in hand did she clean her face, return to the kitchen, and finish her sandwich.

He'd eyed her, but stayed away.

She knew she couldn’t trust him after that. He didn’t even have the excuse of drinking, though her mother insisted that alcohol was no excuse for violence either.

Beth thought it was ironic that her mother worked as a therapist but didn’t recognize the danger Travis represented. And of course, she thought her thirteen-year-old daughter was exaggerating. Just because Beth happened to get in fights at school on occasion. Bullies were bullies, as her uncle said. And Beth was used to standing up to them, no matter how violent or big they were.

But Travis wouldn’t be a danger for long. Not because of the bat. No, the bat was reassuring. But it wasn’t important. Not unless he tried something.

He didn’t drink. That was a point of pride to Travis. Real men don’t need alcohol. He’d said it so often, Beth had wondered who he was trying to convince. Afterall, he also said real men didn’t use violence. Just like her mom.

Lies.

He didn’t drink, but he did use protein powder, claiming it was the next big thing. It was practically his religion. He sold it to everyone he could. And it wasn’t just lip service. Every day, after her mom left for work, he’d prepare a giant portion in his blender. Then he’d crash around in the den, disrupting her last hour before school with his workout.

It’d taken her a long time to figure out how to use that. She’d wanted it to be untraceable. Not all bullies backed down if you hit them. And being caught was… not ideal. The anarchist’s cookbook had been the key. So many useful bits of knowledge. Dangerous household chemicals and mixtures. The trick was to add it when his powder was low enough, he’d clean the evidence himself.

There was the sound of boots on glass outside her window as Travis emerged on the street below, lifting the tee-vee and carrying it to the dumpster.

Two more days, Beth told herself, her hands clenched on the bat when Travis turned to stare up at her through her open window.

Two more days and Travis would be dead.

…TPWM…

What… the… actual…

I throw up, my mind refusing to process Beth’s following memories for several seconds. While not as clear, I can remember moments from the next few days. The moment she left early for school, having added something to his blender and something else to the powder. Leaving early was a habit she’d established over the prior month.

Her mother’s tears when she got home from school. Her mother lamenting that if only she’d been home and gotten to him sooner, she might have been able to save him. Beth’s surprise when her mother received life-insurance. Her regret that her mother didn’t return to normal, instead throwing herself into her work to make up for her ‘failure’ with Travis.

Her disappointment when instead of ruling Travis’ death a suicide, the investigator concluded it was an accident. Beth hadn’t been aware that Travis was seeing a counsellor for suicidal thoughts and that the counsellor had stated Travis was improving.

Underneath it all was the part that still had me fighting to control myself. Beth was smug.

She’d killed a man when she was thirteen and had never felt remorse, or even disgust. Just a deep pervading sense of satisfaction.

I slide down the far side of the temple, away from my mess, catching myself in the air before hiding inside the church.

Too much.

That had been too much. I’d known Beth could be ruthless. But this is worse. And unlike my early attempts, I don’t have the luxury of doubting the truth. Josh and Beth both verified that the previous memories I experienced were accurate. And the encounter with Tipan only reinforced it.

I’m sitting at the bottom of the stairs in the basement, slumped against the wall when I feel a pull in my chest. My connection to Smoulder.

But I have no interest in living through yet another crappy memory. So, I resist.

As I resist, I stare at the far wall, focusing on the shape of the stone. Time slows to a crawl and my time-sense returns. Then I lose my grip and my mind is flung back. But it’s less real. I get a vague sense of Uthica and Smoulder fighting against a horde of mana-borne Pothlin, the twisted version of a K’tharn the only clear image in the memory. And there’s an argument with Uthica’s aunt.

But then I’m back to myself. And I’m slumped against the far wall, right beneath the stone I’d been locked on.

Did I… Did I just use teleport on accident?